


you can count on me (if you want to)

by moxiemorton



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Emily-centric, F/F, Mutual Pining, Post-PP2, Slow Burn, hella OCs pls bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moxiemorton/pseuds/moxiemorton
Summary: Left alone in the wake of a World Championship victory with no experience leading an acapella group, Emily enters her sophomore year at Barden anticipating the worst for the Bella's future. Stumbling through auditions, practices, and competitions with very little idea of what she's doing, Emily leans heavily on Beca for support, cherishing the little but valuable time they share together.





	1. fighting the feeling of letting you go

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are about to be hella long because I am trash and don't limit myself ever. Which also means the time between updates will probably be hella long too :))))
> 
> Also each chapter will inexplicably be titled after a song by MY RED + BLUE

Beca is the last of the graduated Bellas to move out of the house.

Ecstatic with their victory at Worlds and satisfied with the celebratory end to their a cappella journey, the others had moved back to their respective homes as soon as Emily’s belated initiation ceremony was over. Chloe moved to New York City on a whim almost immediately after getting home, and Fat Amy agreed to become her roommate purely for the hell of it. Cynthia Rose flew straight to Maine to plan her wedding, Stacie was accepted into all of the grad schools she applied for, and Flo started drafting a business plan with her brother for a startup juice company.  

Not even a month since their graduation and the Bellas are already doing such independent and adult things; Emily can’t believe that these women were fellow Bellas and Barden students only a few weeks ago.  

When she voices these thoughts, Beca laughs and agrees. “Seems like just yesterday we lit Cynthia Rose on fire. Now look at us.” She pauses, looking around the nearly empty house. “Well, most of us. _Some_ of us are moving into their _dad’s_ house instead.”  

“That’s the norm,” Emily assures, as if she knows anything about life after college. Beca gives her a soft smile nonetheless, and she feels like maybe she was able to quell the bitterness that had been surrounding the recent graduate like a dismal raincloud for the past few days. At least a little bit.  

Since Emily had decided to stay at the Bella house for a month-long summer class at Barden, she offers a hand whenever she catches Beca lugging stuff down the stairs and into the living room. “I got it, thanks,” is usually her response, before insisting Emily focus on her schoolwork instead of worrying about her.   

But it’s hard for Emily not to worry with Beca taking an achingly long time to pack and move out. Aside from her mixing equipment, Beca is a light and minimalist kind of packer. There’s no reason for her to be checking the empty kitchen cabinets or the spotless bathrooms for stuff she might have forgotten, and Emily can tell that she’s lingering, prolonging her stay for as long as she could, even though her dad’s house is twenty minutes away and she can visit any time for as long as Emily’s summer classes last.  

The only thing the Bella’s registration fees don’t cover is the house’s rent for the summer months. “I’ve already paid enough of my dues to this goddamn sisterhood,” is Beca’s reasoning for moving out despite staying in the area, and Emily can’t help but agree.  

She doesn’t hate that Beca is delaying the inevitable because it means she has someone to keep her company in the hollowed-out house. But she sometimes wishes that Beca will just leave and stop giving her hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , she’ll decide to stay like Chloe had. She knows Beca is more ambitious than that, though. And what would she be staying for? Chloe had the rest of the underclassmen Bellas to fall back on.  

Beca would only have Emily.

Then the day comes when Beca finally pulls into the driveway with her father’s van and starts loading up all her luggage. This time, Emily doesn’t ask if she could help; she just grabs a box and carries it over to the car. Beca doesn’t stop her, so she goes back for another box. It almost feels like Emily’s digging her own grave, helping to move out the last Bella who will occupy this house for a while.

“You excited to be moving in with your dad?” she asks after a long period of them silently hauling luggage and playing tetris with boxes and bags to make them all fit into the trunk. She smiles to herself when she hears Beca huff out a dry laugh.

“Not at all. But it’s temporary until I find a job, so hopefully we don’t end up fighting before that.”

“Aw, come on. Your dad’s a sweetheart.”  

Beca shrugs and rolls her eyes. “He can be at times. But then again, he married that creature from the black lagoon, so I have my doubts.”  

“Sounds like you’ll be fighting her before you fight with your dad,” Emily says with a laugh. But then she drops a box on her foot and she howls with pain as Beca zaps to her side with concern. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just gonna…you know. Shake it off,” she says, and perches herself on the bumper of the car, slowly moving her crushed foot up and down.  

“You’re lucky I didn’t have like, books in there,” Beca says after making sure Emily’s foot isn’t seriously injured. “No, no, you don’t have to be sorry. Just…be careful, klutz.”

It doesn’t take long for her to finish loading up the trunk, and she stands back to admire their work for a second before closing the door. “Thanks for the help,” she tells Emily as the head back to the house. “Your foot okay?”  

“It’s fine,” Emily says, embarrassed. “Sorry I made such a big deal out of it." 

“It’s cool,” Beca chuckles. She slumps into a chair at the kitchen counter and lets out a deep breath. “God, I could really use a drink right now.”  

“Oh! You’re in luck!” Emily digs into the depths of the fridge and emerges with two beers. “Fat Amy left these here. I _was_ planning to save them for a wild night in, but I figure this is an equally important occasion.”  

“Well, I’m abso _lutely_ honored,” Beca jokes, reaching over to the drawer that has the bottle opener and tossing it over to the taller girl. “What exactly are we toasting to?” 

Emily hands a bottle to Beca and shrugs after a pause. “To…new beginnings?”

“To new beginnings,” Beca repeats, mimicking Emily’s shrug. They clink bottles and take a swig.  

Emily’s not a huge fan of beer, so she puts down the bottle after one sip. “So do you have any of those coming up? New beginnings?” she asks. She’s not sure if she had hit a sore spot when Beca grimaces and rolls her eyes.

“I’ve got some prospective offers, but nothing that’s screaming my name. A few big-name companies are really into the stuff on my portfolio but are reluctant to hire someone so young. Which _sucks_.” Beca sighs tiredly, but smiles when she sees Emily’s worried look. “By ‘my portfolio,’ I mean ‘Flashlight.’ Your demo’s doing wonders,” she adds, and Emily’s heart swells up.  

“ _Our_ demo,” she feels obliged to amend, “you produced it.”

“Yeah, but you _wrote_ it, dude. That’s like 80% of the work.”

“Uh, no. What you do is… _so_ much more amazing and wonderful and… and…” Emily trails off. _And better than anything I could ever hope to do_ , are the words that had come to mind. She forces those words down and stuffs them back into the dark corner of her mind where they had originated. _No, you’re not going there today_ , she tells herself. _Today, you’re sending Beca off with a smile._  

“Ah, shit, it’s getting dark,” Beca comments, catching sight of the sky outside the window. Her eyes go to the beer in her hand. “Maybe I should just head out tomorrow morning.”  

“But it’s only a 20 minute drive,” Emily says, “so it won’t matter if you leave in like an hour, would it?” She mentally curses herself as soon as the words are out of her mouth. _What the hell are you doing? Are you_ trying _to push her out of the house?_

 _But…Beca_ should _leave, shouldn’t she?_  

“I guess.”  

“I mean, it’s up to you.”  

“Nah, you’re right. I’ll skedattle once I finish this…oh _shit_. I’m supposed to give you the spare key.” Beca shoots up from the table and dashes towards the foyer, and Emily follows, confused. “For some fucked up reason we always kept this thing _inside_ the house, but I figured since you’re the only one with a key now, we should hide this somewhere outside,” the older girl explains as she cuts through the living room and slides into the foyer.  

“I-I think I’ll be okay without a spare,” Emily says, peering over Beca’s shoulder as she pulls open a drawer of the vanity that stands right across from the front door. “I never lost my keys before, so.”

“Yeah, but you never know. We’re leaving you all alone, the least we can do is make sure you’re prepared for anything,” she scoffs, and Emily feels like she’d swallowed a ton of bricks.  

_It’s now or never, Emily. Just…at least just make it clear._

“Damn it,” Beca mutters, pulling the drawer out further. “I _know_ it’s in here somewhere. I swear to god, if one of those bitches took it home, I’m gonna —”

“Beca?”  

“Yeah?” she responds absently, opening another drawer and digging into it.  

“I…um,” Emily starts nervously, and she takes a deep breath. “I…gotta…get something off my chest. If that’s okay.”  

Beca raises an eyebrow at the seriousness of Emily’s tone, but she stops her rummaging and looks up. “Yeah, sure. All ears.”  

And she doesn’t know what she expected, but Beca’s undivided attention makes her feel like she’s standing on the stage at Worlds again, facing the intense focus and judgement of a thousand strangers Emily desperately wants to please. But it’s not like she wants to put on a performance; all she wants is to make sure Beca knows this, to make sure she doesn’t leave under the impression that everything is going to be okay.  

Just eight words.  

“ _I don’t know if I can do this_.”

She’d even practiced the appropriate places to hesitate and emphasize, and she’d gone as far as to imagine how Beca would react. The point is for her to get across to the most put-together and level-headed Bella that she is _not_ ready to lead a world-champion status a capella group, and that she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. That she’s flying blind.  

Beca doesn’t even have to offer a solution. Emily just wants her to know just how unprepared she feels.  

That’s it. 

That’s literally it. 

She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.  

Beca’s watching her, waiting for the grand statement that interrupted her spare key search. She looks confused and a little taken aback when Emily hesitates, but doesn’t offer a sarcastic quip to ease the sudden tense air that surrounds the younger girl.  

“What is it?” she asks instead, prompting and reassuring. And it doesn’t make Emily feel any better because she can’t handle it when people worry over her and _care_ so deeply about what’s bothering her with genuine intention to help in any way they can.  

And before she understands what’s happening, there are tears spilling out her eyes and a huge lump building up in her throat that cuts off her breathing.

“Oh. Shit. Uh. Wh-what…? Oh, fuck,” Beca stumbles, panicking, and if she weren’t crying and making a fool of herself, Emily would have laughed at the helpless and confused expression on the older girl’s face. “Shit, Legacy, what’s…? Here, come on.” 

She lets Beca take her hand and lead her into the living room, blinded by tears and distracted by how hard it is to get enough air to her lungs with the lump blocking her windpipe. Her foot bumps against the leg of the ottoman and she grips Beca’s arm so hard that the shorter girl winces a little.  

“Easy, easy,” she’s saying. Emily clings onto the sound of her voice, trying desperately to pull herself out of the stormy mess of crying and gasping for breath. She can’t bring herself to let go of Beca even when they’re sitting down on the couch, and she knows she should be absolutely mortified that she’s _sobbing_ and being so _emotional_ in front of the calmest and most collected woman she’s ever met in her life, but she can’t help it. “Come on, Em. I don’t know what to do unless you tell me what’s wrong.” 

And Emily tries. She tries _hard_ to gather all her thoughts while she suffocates on hiccups so she can explain why she’s literally clutching onto Beca’s arm as if she’s going to disappear and never come back.  

 _I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do with the Bellas next year. What if no one wants to join and the Bellas are finished? I don’t know how to build a team up from nothing. What if I can’t do it? How am I supposed to know how to run an a capella group? I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to_ be _alone. I can’t do this alone._  

_Don’t leave me here alone._

But in the end, even when the hiccups subside enough for her to speak, all that comes out of her mouth is a shaky and fragile, “I’m scared.” And Emily hates that she feels it, that she says it, and that Beca hears it.

“Scared of what?” Beca presses gently, and Emily doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to admit to how weak she is, doesn’t want to feel any smaller than she feels now, under Beca’s steady gaze. She feels more than hears Beca shift off the couch to grab something from the mantle, and then her warm hands are pushing tissues into Emily’s shaking fingers.  

The softness of the gesture only causes more tears to stream down Emily’s face. “Everything,” she manages to choke out.  

Beca doesn’t say anything, and Emily knows that she’s waiting for an elaboration. It takes quite a few minutes, but Beca waits patiently and steadily hands her fresh tissues.  

“We literally just won an _international_ competition,” Emily sniffles out as soon as words reach her. “Not just a national one, but _the world_ literally knows us now. And how am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to be as amazing and revolutionary as you and Chloe? I have _nothing_ , Beca. No experience making arrangements. No experience leading a group. Nothing.” 

“You have us.”  

She closes her eyes at Beca’s words. She knows what the older girl means. That she has the graduated Bellas. That she has the entire alumni base. She has Beca’s arrangements and Chloe’s choreo. She has four years worth of material from the power couple at her disposal.  

“What I… mean is… I-I have no one. Next to me. Here.” 

Beca opens her mouth and snaps it shut before nodding slowly with understanding. “Right,” she says slowly. 

“God, sorry, that sounded _so_ needy and lame.” 

“No, no. You’re right, Legacy.” She lets out a deep exhale and runs a hand through her hair. “Damn. You kept all this inside? You didn’t talk to anyone?” 

“Who could I tell?” Emily says, hoping she doesn’t sound as bitter as she feels. “Everyone’s gone.” 

“Right,” Beca says again. “Shit,” she curses, “sorry, I don’t know…how to like. Do this. Comfort people.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s really not. God, I suck. This is more of Chloe’s thing.”

Emily purses her lips. “If I told Chloe this, she’d stay behind another three years.”

“All right, fair point.”

Emily can’t blame Beca for wanting to pass her off to Chloe. Had she known she would break down and cry, she would _definitely_ not have gone to the stoic and cool-headed Beca; if she’d learned anything after spending a year with the girls, it’s that _no one_ goes to the tiny captain for emotional comfort.

But Beca’s trying her damned hardest to cheer her up, and the effort alone makes her feel a little bit better.  

She bumps Emily’s shoulder with a quiet _hey_ and waits until the sobbing girl slowly looks up. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Beca whispers dramatically, face breaking into a smile when Emily giggles through her tears. “I’m…well, I’m pretty scared, too.” 

Emily shoots her a skeptical look.  

“No, really. Before the Bellas, I had…nothing. Just a stupid dream to move to L.A. with some crappy mashups and somehow become a world-famous music producer.” She smiles to herself as if she’s reminiscing about those foolish years. “My dad forced me to join a club, and before I knew it, the Bellas became…family. And, like, I know that’s what _everyone_ says about these kinds of groups in college, but trust me. If you knew me freshman year, you would think it was a miracle.” 

“It still kinda seems that way,” Emily admits, smiling at Beca’s jokingly narrowed eyes. “They seem like quite a bunch to get used to for someone like you.”

“Yeah, they’re a…fucking mess. But a lovable mess,” she adds before chuckling. “I’m scared. To move on from that kind of stability. And I get why Chloe stayed behind for so long. Oh, no. Don’t worry, I would _never_ want three more years of school. But…I get it, you know?” 

Emily doesn’t say how she’d been wishing Beca would follow Chloe’s example. From the way the older girl is looking at her, she can probably read her thoughts.

“I thought about staying here for the summer, at the very least. Instead of moving to my dad’s,” Beca continues. 

“You could,” Emily says weakly, trying to sound like she doesn’t care either way but failing miserably.   

“I could. But it’s probably not a good idea.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Need to break it off sometime, right? Besides, summer rent here is too expensive and I already paid enough dues to this godda —”

“— goddamn sisterhood,” Emily finishes. They both share a quiet laugh, and Emily forces herself to accept Beca’s point. Having her spend the rest of the summer in the house would only make it more painful when it comes time to _actually_ move out.  

Beca takes one last tissue and dabs at Emily’s eyes. “You have us,” she repeats. “Me, Chloe, Aubrey, …and the rest of those little demons. We’re not just another singing group, Em. Okay, yeah, it literally robs us every year with registration fees, but it really _is_ a sisterhood. We’re here to support you for the rest of your life. Basically a sorority.” 

“You sound like my mom.”

“Jesus, already? Point is, we’re gonna help you figure all this shit out. We’re not abandoning you. Okay?”  

“Okay.”

Beca smiles warmly, and Emily can’t help but to mirror the expression. “Thanks,” she whispers, and the older girl nods.  

“All right. Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Beca says, holding up one finger. “One, we’re ordering pizza. Two, we’re finishing those disgusting beers because it’s the only alcohol we have left here. And three,” she holds up a third finger and smirks, “we’re staying up all night to watch trash TV.” 

And suddenly it just feels like another night in with the Bellas, when everyone was too lazy or tired to go out and they decided to fight over pizza toppings instead. Emily has one vivid memory from when their TV was broken — it _wasn’t_ Fat Amy’s fault, everyone was informed — and they had all huddled around Cynthia Rose’s laptop with beer and a plate of pizza to watch a grainy and laggy episode of _Bad Girls Club_.  

It had been a surreal experience for Emily, who had come into college expecting wild parties and shots of tequila every weekend, but it’d felt homey and comfortable and she’d secretly started preferring those kinds of nights rather than the parties.  

They order a pie and finish their warm beers while they wait for it to be delivered, flipping through channels to find the trashiest show they can tolerate. Emily listens lethargically to Beca criticizing reality TV as a whole as she waves the remote around, tired from crying so much and being lulled into a trance by Beca’s mile-a-minute rant. Whatever beer Fat Amy had left in the fridge was stronger than either of them had expected, and they’re both blinking blearily at the TV when the pizza finally arrives.  

“Fuck,” Beca mutters as she bites tiredly into the pizza. “Staying up all night’s gonna be harder than I thought.”  

And she’s right, because by the time they each finish a slice, they’re practically falling asleep, Beca’s head resting heavily on Emily’s shoulder.  

“Why is Meghan such a bitch?” Beca asks, half-yawning.  

“They’re all bitches,” Emily replies, voice equally heavy.  

“Yeah, but at least Shannon’s trying.”   

“Is she? Or is it just for the camera?”

“Everything’s for the camera,” Beca scoffs.

Not long after that, Emily gives into the exhaustion and closes her eyes, resting her head on top of Beca’s. The TV volume is at a comfortable place where it’s not loud enough to keep her up but not low enough for her to miss the words, so she follows the story along through the dialogue while drifting in and out of sleep.

After a while, she feels Beca carefully reach over and pull a blanket over them, movements slow and hesitant as if making sure Emily doesn’t wake up. She wants to keep feigning sleep to make Beca’s efforts at least _seemingly_ worthwhile, but it feels like she’s struggling because she’s using her non-dominant hand and Emily feels awkward just sitting there when she’s aware of what’s happening. Opening one eye, she helps Beca spread the blanket across their huddled form.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no. I was in and out.” She glances up at the TV, where two women are cat fighting and cursing profusely. “Should we go to bed?” Emily asks sleepily, settling deeper into the couch. She hears Beca breathe out a laugh under her.

“This is fine,” she mumbles, nuzzling into the younger girl’s neck, and Emily is suddenly wide awake, goosebumps erupting all over her body. “Bedding’s packed up anyway.”

And Emily wants to suggest that they just go up to her room — which used to be Jessica and Ashley’s — and just share a bed for the night, but the feeling of Beca’s face buried in her neck is too overwhelming for words to form coherently in her brain. She doesn’t trust her voice to come out steady, and the last thing she wants to do is make a fool of herself in a completely different way than she already had tonight.  

Instead, she just hums in agreement and concentrates on calming her heartbeat. Judging by her deep breathing and the increasing weight of her head on Emily’s shoulder, Beca is being dragged to sleep much faster than she is. She fiddles with the remote to lower the volume and put on subtitles, wishing she could ignore the warmth of Beca’s breath against her neck and fall asleep as easily as she had.

_Is this the last time we’ll be this close?_

The question drifts through her mind without warning. She’d never hung out with Beca for this long, especially not one-on-one; she knows it’s only because they’re the last two left in this house, but the past few weeks have been amazing nonetheless. It’s not just the old Bellas that she’s going to miss. It’s also Beca — the elusive captain, the sarcastic enigma — that she’ll never spend as much time with. The thought has Emily unconsciously gripping Beca tighter to her side, as if that would keep her from leaving. Head swimming with memories, both good and bad, Emily blinks tiredly at the TV until she, too, drifts to sleep.

* * *

When Emily wakes up the next morning, she’s alone.

She’s laying down across the length of the couch, head pillowed by a cushion with the Bella’s ‘B’ emblazoned across it in its brilliant blue. There’re two more blankets on top of the first one, and she feels toasty despite the AC blasting throughout the house. Her throat is achy, her cheeks feel crusted with dried tears, and her neck is sore from the way it was bent against Beca’s head.

Beca.

Emily shoots up from the couch, blankets flying everywhere, and looks wildly around the empty living room. She dashes to the window and checks the driveway.

The van is gone.

 _Gone_.

A small “oh,” escapes her lips before she can stop it, but she manages to force back the tears that starts to burn behind her eyes. There’s absolutely no point crying about Beca leaving; she wasn’t even supposed to stay this long.

She just wishes Beca had said goodbye.

 _Maybe she’s not the type to_ , Emily thinks, slumping back down on the couch and pulling the multitude of blankets over her lap. Beca’s always been the most emotionally reserved Bella, except maybe Lilly, and Emily has on one occasion witnessed her literally running away from her feelings when she and Jesse had a fight in the Bella house. _Or maybe she was afraid you’d start crying again_.

Which, honestly, is probably what would’ve happened.

Emily’s pulled out of her thoughts when she hears footsteps and the jangle of keys approaching the front door. _Could it be the maintenance guy?_ He wasn’t supposed to come until Emily left in a month. _Could it be… another Bella?_

Before Emily could theorize who it could possibly be, the door flies open and in walks Beca like she owns the place.

“Morning,” she says casually, pushing her sunglasses up. “I brought some breakfast and coffee, if you want.” 

“Oh, uh. Thanks?” Wrapping the three blankets around her shoulders, Emily follows Beca to the kitchen and watches with bemusement as the older girl sets two cups of coffee and two breakfast sandwiches on the kitchen table. They’re from Emily’s favorite campus cafe, and she can’t stop the smile that twitches at her mouth.  

“Sorry, about this morning,” Beca continues, tossing her keys and sunglasses down on the counter, “I didn’t want to wake you and I couldn’t exactly carry you upstairs, so I just kind of left you on the couch.” 

“Oh, no. No, no that’s fine.”

“Is bacon egg and cheese okay? I couldn’t remember if you liked sausage or bacon better.”  

“O-oh. No, bacon’s…Um?” Emily points at Beca and then at the floor. “Sorry, uh. What… are you doing back here? Did you forget something?”  

And Beca finally pauses, looking a little embarrassed.  

“Well, uh. No. No, not really.” She runs her fingers through her hair, avoiding eye contact. “I just thought… I dunno. Just because I moved out, doesn’t mean we can’t hang. I guess,” she says, shrugging nonchalantly. “We can, like, you know. Go over some setlists and choreo and stuff to make sure you’re ready. We can do our own little a capella boot camp, if you think that’ll help.”

Emily stares at her, speechless and astounded.  

“Unless you don’t want to. That’s cool too,” Beca shrugs again. “I get that me being here is probably not the best for you in terms of moving on and figuring out —”  

“N-no! No, no. That’s not… sorry, I was just…” Emily trails off with a confused chuckle. “Wow. W-wh…really? You would do all that? For _me_?” 

“Yeah, well.” Beca sighs and plops herself down at the table. “You made a point last night. We left you with jack shit to work with. You have sets and choreo but no way to teach them. Basically starting from scratch.” 

“Well, that’s how Chloe and Aubrey started before you joined, wasn’t it?” Emily asks, joining her at the table.  

“Yeah, but they were experienced seniors and they had each other.”  

“Oh. Right.”  

They munch on their breakfast sandwiches in silence. Emily wonders what Beca could be thinking about while she slowly chews her food and stares out the window over Emily’s shoulder. She wishes she could just glimpse into Beca’s mind, even for a second, just to get an idea of how she was able to revolutionize the Bellas as a freshman, and maybe figure out what it is that Emily’s lacking in that department.  

 _How different would everything be if Beca was just one year younger? If she could stay at Barden for_ one _more year?_  

She doesn’t understand how she can simultaneously feel so big and so small next to Beca 

“All right,” Beca says, clapping her hands together as soon as they finish breakfast. “Let’s get down to it.”  

Despite just having drank a cup of coffee each, they drive to a nearby cafe and set up camp at a corner booth. Emily opens up her laptop and plugs in the flash drive that Beca and Chloe had given her last month, containing all of the Bella’s setlists, choreography, mashups, and performance venues from the last four years. While Beca has her own laptop open, she leans over to peer at Emily’s screen while she goes over past choreo and how to read different parts and organize arrangements and basically every little detail that went into crafting a performance.  

“See now _this_ ,” Beca says, fiddling with Emily’s trackpad to pull up the right file, “is what Chloe called the ‘mastersheet.’ Yeah, don’t ask me, I didn’t name it that.”  

It’s an intensified form of sheet music, where there are several rows of boxes beneath each staff. Inside the boxes are small stick-figure drawings of dance moves, complete with movement arrows and smiling faces.  

“This is Chloe just being extra,” Beca quickly explains. “We usually just write out the moves under each measure like…here, this one. See, like this part is literally just ‘four steps forward,’ and the back choreo is something like ‘face left ninety degrees over three counts’ and shit like that.”  

“Why does this say ‘in the sluttiest way you can’ with a winking face?”  

“Because Stacie’s notations are always lewd,” Beca sniffs, turning pink. “Anyway, you get the point. So if you put those simple drawings or notes next to the choreo chart,” she continues, pulling up said file, “you’ll start to get a picture of what it should look like.”

Emily leans back in her seat. For just one performance, Beca had opened five different files: one for the arrangement, one for the choreo chart, one for all the moves in their repertoire that could match with the beat and transitions, one for the actual mix, and one for the mastersheet. “Wow,” is all she could say.

“Yeah,” is Beca’s simple agreement. She smiles with understanding sympathy when Emily blows out a breath. “It’s a lot, I know. So this is where your boot camp begins: learn how to read all this. Here, you should start with our Worlds performance, since you’ve actually practiced it.”  

Emily watches Beca as she digs into the flash drive folder to retrieve all the material for their Worlds set, unable to tear her eyes away from the former Bella’s concentrated expression. She’s still staring when Beca finishes opening up the files, and she meets Emily’s gaze with surprise.  

“Is there something on my face?” she asks at the same exact time Emily stutters out an apology.  

“N-no. Just, uh.” The younger girl shakes off her embarrassment and forces a smile. “This is totally random, but do you remember, by any chance, what I said to you back at Aubrey’s retreat? When we were all sitting around that campfire?” 

Beca screws up her face. “Uhhhhh. Something about feeling like a winner?”  

“Oh, my st- _no_ , before that,” Emily says, turning red. “About how I wish I could do what you do. About how you’re so good that you’re —” 

“—intimidating,” Beca finishes, nodding with the memory. “Right. I remember.” 

“Yeah. That’s what I’m feeling right now,” Emily says, gesturing to her laptop screen. “Looking at all this…at all the work that goes into creating just one set. And how you were able to pump out a new one for basically every single performance. It’s…yeah. It’s definitely intimidating.” 

Beca falls silent at that, and Emily sips glumly at her smoothie while flipping through all the files open on her screen. She’s not going to lie; looking through all of these behind-the-scenes charts and sheet music and scribbled notes gives her a renewed sense of excitement. Looking at her part in the set for Worlds, Emily can see how her choreo and dancing fell in line with all of the other Bellas’ and how her solo for ‘Flashlight’ was accompanied by everyone’s harmonies and vocal percussion. It’s amazing, how everything falls into place to create an award-winning performance.  

Maybe — just _maybe_ — Emily will be able to successfully teach whatever new Bellas she manages to catch. Maybe they’ll be able to make the running for the ICCA championships. Maybe they’ll even win.  

But she’ll never be able to make something like this. Not without Beca’s knowledge of mixing music and Chloe’s knowledge of choreographing an original remix.

“Do you remember what you said after that?” Beca asks suddenly, yanking Emily back to reality.  

“Sorry?”

“After you said I was intimidating. Do you remember what you said after that?” she repeats.  

“Okay, wait. I didn’t say _you_ were intimidating, I meant what you _do_ is —” 

“Do you remember?” Beca presses, smirking at Emily to show that she’s just teasing. She scoots back to her own laptop when Emily shakes her head. “You told us that you didn’t want to be a legacy. That you want to be a Bella.”  

“Oh.” She feels herself turning red again. “Yeah, I guess I did.”  

“You think we took you in solely through nepotism?”

“I mean, yeah? A little? That’s literally the loophole Chloe used when I auditioned.”  

“You…ugh. Those fuckin’…okay. You know what? Here.” Beca types angrily on her keyboard before pushing her laptop towards Emily. “Read this.”

 

_Dear Ms. Mitchell,_

_Thank you for your interest in Mobile Records and for taking the time to complete our online application process. Due to the high volume of applicants, at this time we do not have the capacity to accept your submission._

 

“This is a rejection letter.”

“I _know_ , Em. Just keep reading.”

 

_However, we would like to take the time to address one item from your portfolio. Mobile Records receives countless demos both through applicants and clients, but your song ‘Flashlight’ is one of the most well-produced songs we have heard from someone in your level of experience. We encourage you to keep building your portfolio with similar works, and perhaps in the future, you’ll consider applying to our company again._

 

“Is this one of the companies that didn’t take you because you’re too young?” Emily asks, confused with the rejection and compliment pairing.

Beca shakes her head with a rueful smile. “God, I’m _so_ glad my dad talked me out of moving to L.A. when I was eighteen. If they think I’m too young now…” She slides her laptop back towards her. “But anyway, that’s not the point. The _point_ is the second part. You keep saying I ‘revolutionized the Bella sound,’ or whatever, but you, _you_ , Emily Junk, are the one who wrote the lyrics and melody to this masterpiece. The very one that got this compliment from a _real life_ music producing company, the one that won us a world championship.”

Emily purses her lips. “Yeah, but —”

“A _world_ championship!” Beca repeats, cutting her off while giving her jazz fingers and earning a giggle from the younger girl. “You literally revolutionized the Bella’s _history_ , dude. Oh, my god, I sound like a friggen cheesy inspirational movie, sorry. But you get what I mean.”

“You… make everything sound so much better,” Emily says, rubbing her temples. “Like, in every way possible.”

“Just telling it like it is,” she shrugs. “So stop selling yourself short, got it? Set some realistic goals for yourself and the new Bellas so you don’t expect too much or too little from this year. Maybe research the basics of creating and leading an a capella group. And take a deep breath once in a while.”

Smiling a little, Emily nods and follows through immediately with Beca’s last point, breathing in deep through her nose and letting out an exaggerated exhale through her mouth.

They stay at the cafe for the whole day. Emily goes through pages and pages of a capella research, desperately trying to remember all the fancy music terminology that keep popping up. Beca sludges through countless job applications, groaning with frustration every time she has to attach a cover letter or find a reference number. By the time evening rolls around, both of them are exhausted, their dry eyes squinting against the light of their laptop screens.

“Call it a night?” Beca asks, breaking first.

“Yes, please,” Emily groans.

Beca drives them back to the Bella house, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. “Shit, dude. Why are we always so tired?”

“Should we fall asleep to another trash TV marathon?” Emily suggests. She’d meant it mostly as a joke, but Beca’s smile is a little tight.

“I should head back to my dad’s.”

“Oh. Yeah, totally.”

“Sorry, I’m not blowing you off or anything, I swear,” Beca says apologetically. She pulls the van heavily into the driveway. “How ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow? Bright and early eleven o’ clock?”

“That’s not early at all,” Emily giggles. “But sure. I’d love that.”

* * *

And true to her word, Beca is back in the Bella’s driveway the next morning.

The two of them fall into a comfortable routine. Emily goes to class every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday evening, and almost every other hour is spent with Beca, either holed up in a cafe doing research, practicing dance routines at Beca’s dad’s house, goofing off with the pianos in the music building, or ignoring Bellas business altogether and just hanging out. They even Skype Chloe a few times while they go over old music and choreo, but they usually end up gossiping and going off track.

It takes a while, but Emily eventually picks up on the fact that Beca never spends the night at the Bella house. Sometimes Emily would stay over at Beca’s dad’s when they end up losing track of time, but it’s never the other way around. It’s hard not to think back to that night when they fell asleep cuddled up on the couch, and Emily wonders if that’s why Beca doesn’t want to share a bed again. But Emily doesn’t want to call her out and make it weird, so she lets Beca do whatever she wants.

And the more time they spend together, the less anxiety Emily feels about the upcoming year and reconstructing the new Bellas. Her mock dance practices and singing drills with Beca do a lot to keep her in shape and in tune, and she’s thankful that there’s someone to keep her motivated. They also talk more than Emily had ever thought they would when they’re together, opening up about childhood memories, hometown friends, high school shenanigans, and even about past relationships.

“What!” Beca exclaims with her mouth full of ice cream when Emily tells her about an ex. “He did _not_.”

“Yeah, he did,” Emily shrugs, licking her cone with more dignity. “The whole school saw it. I mean, it really didn’t matter in the long run because everyone forgot about it a month later, but in the moment, I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die.”

“Holy shit.” Beca leans back down against the windshield and stretches her legs out on the hood.

It’s the night before Emily’s final exam and they had driven out to the outskirts of Atlanta as a break, if four hours can still be considered a break. Beca had parked along the edge of a sightseeing cliff overlooking the Atlanta skyline, and they’d each grabbed an ice cream cone from a small stand down the road. There’re benches along the fencing of the cliff, but Beca had suggested sitting up on the hood of the van instead. As the sun sets and the cool night air sets in, the residual warmth from the engine keeps their bare legs from getting too cold.

It’s so _summer_ that it makes Emily smile to herself.

“I’ve done some petty shit to my ex’s but _that_? That’s some next level tomfoolery,” Beca continues, finally finishing her bite.

“Well, he didn’t _mean_ for it to be that bad,” Emily tries to reason, smiling at Beca’s vocabulary. “In a weird way, I think he was trying to show that he cared. You know, like a ‘hey, I really like you so I’m going to show the world how lucky I am to have you by posting a love letter you wrote online’ or something like that.” She makes a face at Beca’s amused expression. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve probably never had a sappy ex.”

“I dunno, man. Jesse was a pretty sappy and emotion-based dude,” Beca says, shaking her head slowly as she practically swallows the rest of her cone.

Emily pauses mid-lick. She turns to Beca in shock and confusion, watching her struggle with the amount of ice cream in her mouth at once. “Wait, what?”

“Hm?”

“Jesse? ‘Was’? Is he a ‘was’? Is he an _ex_?” Emily strings together haphazardly, her ice cream forgotten.

“Oh. Mmm.” Beca takes a second to chew and swallow. “Yeah, we broke up.”

“ _When?_ ” she presses, flabbergasted. Beca hadn’t shown any kind of sign that she’d gone through a breakup, and Emily feels like she should’ve picked up the signs. But seeing the older girl’s casual and nonchalant reaction, she thinks maybe that Beca didn’t struggle with it all.

“Eh, like last week or so. To be honest, it was winding down anyway. Bound to end sooner or later.” She lets out a dry laugh that turns into a sigh. “Great guy. Great relationship. But not worth… the stress. Of a long distance relationship. Or letting this opportunity slip by for him. No offense, Jesse,” Beca laughs softly.

Emily can practically _see_ the question marks floating around her own head like little cartoon canaries. “What? Long distance? Opportunity? Beca, what—?”

“I’m moving to New York.”

The breath whooshes out of her lungs so fast that Emily’s stomach feels like it bottomed out.

“I finally got a job acceptance at a recording studio in Brooklyn,” Beca continues. To Emily, it sounds like her voice is coming from the opposite end of a tunnel. “Chloe and Amy said they could squeeze me in, and their rent is cheap, so. I’m moving in with them. I start working next Monday.”

Beca looks at her then, and Emily quickly smiles back, disappointed in herself at how hard she has to force it. This is what the recent graduate had been working towards all summer. This is what she’d labored over for months at a crappy internship for. This is her _dream_ come true. The least Emily could do is be proud of her.

“Wow,” she finally manages to choke out. “That’s…that’s amazing! Congrats!” She hesitates before going in for a hug, but Beca puts on her _okay, fine_ smile with a roll of her eyes and opens her arms.

Emily pulls the smaller girl to her, a torrent of confusing feelings crashing over her as she holds Beca tight. She doesn’t want to let go, but she also doesn’t want to make this moment weird. So she breaks apart, putting on another smile.

“When are you leaving?”

Beca looks down at her shoes. “Uh. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

“T-tomorrow?” Emily almost falls off the van. “To _morrow?_ ”

“Technically in about ten hours, yeah.”  

Emily opens her mouth but no sound comes out; a disorienting array of emotions flash past her with a speed she can barely keep up with. She’s happy for Beca. But sad that she’s leaving. And pissed that she’s only telling Emily now. But also understanding that Beca has to move on at some point. But also betrayed that she hadn’t shared the acceptance when she first got it. And such terrible, _terrible_ loneliness.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her voice tight. No. No, no, no. She’s not going to cry. _Stop it, Emily. Stop it_ right _now._ _No. Nope._ No _crying tonight._

Beca doesn’t respond for the longest minute. She stares out towards the Atlanta skyline, her expression impossible to read. “I…tried,” she says lamely. “Like, a million times. I didn’t know how to bring it up, and it never seemed like the right time.” Emily can’t stop from scoffing, and she avoids Beca’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Emily” she says in a small voice.

The apology does little to alleviate the negative cloud filling up her heart. “ _Were_ you going to tell me?”

Beca pauses. “I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know?_ ”

“Emil —”

“No. No! Don’t _Emily_ me!” Suddenly she’s jumping to her feet, the gravel crunching under her shoes, and she’s glaring at a shocked Beca. “You don’t know if you were going to tell me or not? For _real?_ What, were you just going to _leave_ without telling me and I was just supposed to find out tomorrow? Were you just planning to _text_ me? ‘Oh, hey, Emily. I won’t be coming by today because I’m in god-fricken _New York City._  Got a job here so I’ll see you never’? Is _that_ how you wanted me to find out?”

“Okay, listen, Legacy. I know I should’ve told you, but it’s not that simp —”

“It is! It _is_ that simple, Beca! You just…you just _tell_ people things, things that happen in your life and then we all celebrate together or cry together or whatever! Together! That’s it!” She’s jabbing a finger at Beca and she probably looks ridiculous but she can’t stop yelling. “But you! You don’t tell _any_ one _any_ thing! You keep everything to yourself and push _everyone_ away no matter how much they love you and support you, not matter how much they can help you through whatever you’re going through! You didn’t tell the Bellas about your internship last year, you didn’t tell anyone about Jesse, and you didn’t tell me about your job until the _night_ _before_ you’re leaving!”

Beca’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly with unsaid words, and Emily knows that she won’t be able to keep yelling at her without breaking down. “You got a job? Great. You’re moving a thousand miles away? That’s fine. That’s _fine_ , okay? But what’s _not_ fine is that you kept that to yourself, that you would’ve been okay without telling me, that you could abandon me _that_ easily…”

And she can’t finish her sentence because she’s choking on her own breath and her lungs feel like they’re about to explode. The tears she’d been holding back finally burst free, but Emily is _not_ having it and angrily wipes away every drop before they make it past her cheeks. She feels like an idiot, trailing off where she had, but all of her emotions are hitting her at once and she feels weak and dizzy.  

“Okay.” Beca slides off the hood and approaches Emily carefully, like she’s a frightened animal about to bolt at the next sudden movement. “I know you hate me right now, but please. Let’s…sit down. Okay?” She motions to the car.

Emily remains rooted to the spot for a minute, glaring furiously at a spot several inches above Beca’s shoulder and rubbing roughly at her eyes. But eventually, she takes several stiff steps towards the car.

Beca turns on the engine when they’re both seated inside. “Is it okay if I drive us back home?” she asks tentatively. Emily just nods silently, honestly not caring what happens next anymore.

The ride home is quiet and tense. Beca doesn’t play music, which is unheard of, and Emily doesn’t talk, which is also out of character. They’re both very aware of how awkward this is, but neither knows how to alleviate the tension.

“Jesse said the same thing to me.” Beca finally breaks the silence. Emily has no idea what she’s talking about, so she continues staring straight out the windshield. “Back when we were freshmen. He asked me why I push away everyone who cares about me. I didn’t have an answer for him.”

Emily doesn’t want to sound bitter, but she knows she does when she asks, “Do you have an answer _now_?”

Beca purses her lips and shakes her head. “No, not really. And this is going to sound fucking ridiculous, especially after you just blew up on me, but I used to be much worse. Like, to the point that my dad thought I was _trying_ to avoid making friends. Which I was, frankly.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. It was just easier.”

“Not having friends?”

“Not caring about people. Not being cared about. Not having to deal with these…” she motions to her heart, “…emotions, and shit. I was never good at that.”  

“It’s not something you have to be good at,” Emily mumbles.

“You’re right. And it took four years with the Bellas to realize that. Guess I still really haven’t learned, huh?” Beca puffs out a long breath and taps nervously on the steering wheel. “Trust me, I wish I wasn’t like this, either. I wish it was easier for me to open up to people and actually let them care about my life, but it doesn’t come naturally to me. The girls…they’re just such relentless little beasts that they managed to pull _some_ kind of human interaction from me, so it worked out for them. But when it comes down to me? God, do I suck at initiating.”

They hit a red light and Beca takes a deep breath. “So, there you have it. The story of why I suck as a human being. And I know I’m the worst when it comes to stuff like this, but I’m glad I have the Bellas. And you.” She gives Emily a smile before rolling her eyes and adding, “Even Jesse, the little booger.”

Emily chuckles at that, and the tension in Beca’s shoulders visibly lessen.

“I’m really sorry, Emily. For being such a dick.” Her voice is so soft that it’s barely audible over the engine. “I should’ve told you right when I got the acceptance call. You should’ve been the first one to know.”

“It’s okay. I…I understand where you’re coming from, now.”

“It was still shitty.”

“Yeah, it was,” Emily agrees lightly, and Beca smirks. “But I’m sorry too. For yelling at you.”

“I deserved it.”

“It was still shitty.”

Beca laughs, eyes crinkling, and Emily can’t help but to laugh along.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you have the Bellas to talk to. And Jesse, too.”

“Yeah,” Beca smiles a little sadly. “Yeah, he’s a great guy. He deserves better than my shitty ass, and hopefully he’ll see that soon.”

“I’m sure he understands,” Emily offers.  

“He does. Said he’d always be my number one fan, or whatever.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It’s something,” Beca shrugs. “I’m sure you have the same support from Benji.”

Emily freezes. “Uhhhhhh.”

Beca gives her a look. “Oh, okay, that’s cool too. You guys…do you, I guess.”

“Yeah, we’re not…doing anything, really. I mean, we talk every now and then, but he’s working in Virginia and we haven’t seen each other since Worlds, so…I’m honestly not expecting anything out of it.”

“You guys haven’t talked about it?”

“No, not really.”

“Soooo nothing’s progressed from that liplock I caught you two in?”

Heat floods Emily’s cheeks. “Oh, my stars, _no_. You’re worse than my mom.”

“All right, you have _got_ to stop comparing me to your mom.”

They pull into the Bella’s driveway, and Beca leaves the engine running but doesn’t indicate that Emily should get out of the car and say their goodbyes. Instead, they sit in silence as if daring the other to initiate the farewell.  

When Emily finally turns to look at her, Beca is looking up at the house. She drops her gaze and smiles guiltily when she notices the younger girl watching her. “That’s why you never slept over,” Emily says suddenly, connecting the dots. “It wasn’t about not wanting to share a bed, was it? You just didn’t want to attach yourself to the house again.”

Beca raises an eyebrow. “Who the hell said I didn’t want to share a bed?”

“Uh. I guess my own thoughts and insecurities,” she mumbles, making Beca laugh.

“We literally fell asleep on top of each other before, dude. _And_ there’s a couch I could take. Why would you think it’s anything other than the fact that I didn’t want to ‘live’ in the Bella house again?” she asks, miming air quotes. “It’s…it’s kind of pathetic, really. You’d think it’d be easier to move out with everyone else gone, but it’s just…not even about the Bellas anymore. It just all the memories we had in there.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Emily assures her. “Heck, I didn’t even officially live here and I feel the same.”

Beca turns to her with a smile. “Well, hopefully one day you’ll actually live here. With your own team. And hopefully you like them enough for it to be _this_ hard to move away.”

It sounds incredibly sad and heartfelt to Emily, and all she can do is nod in response. With one last smile, she unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs out of the van. After a thought, she sidles up to the driver’s side as Beca rolls down her window and shoots her a thumbs up.

“You got this.”

Emily huffs out a small laugh. “Yeah. Yeah totes. I got this.”

“I believe in you.”

“Yeah…I’ll try to believe in me, too.”  

“Remember, don’t sell yourself short.”

“Right. That too.”

Beca looks at Emily then, wearing a soft expression that makes the younger girl blush. “I love you, Em,” she says.

Emily is acutely aware that she had stopped breathing, but she can’t figure out how to start again. She has never heard those words coming from Beca’s mouth, not to Jesse, to any of the Bellas, to _anyone_. As if she noticed that the younger girl had frozen over, Beca quickly adds, “We all do. The Bellas, I mean.”

A strangled sound escapes Emily’s throat and she rushes to turn it into a cough. “R-right. Love you too. A-all of you,” she says, and she hopes that her stutter doesn’t translate to insincerity. Her lungs finally start working properly again, and she draws a ragged breath with and forces smile.

“Well, uh. Have safe flight to New York.”

“Yeah, I-I’ll keep you updated.”

Watching Beca drive away, Emily swears to herself that she’d misheard that stutter. “Holy crap,” she whispers into the night, still in shock from the three words. Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and her heart is pumping so hard that it starts to hurt her chest.

She returns to the house in a daze, her growling stomach barely registering in her cluttered mind. Too much had happened in the last two hours, and it seems almost unfair for Beca to have ended their summer with _that_ kind of statement. Especially since Emily’s supposed to mad at her for withholding her move.

Her phone suddenly beeps and Emily flinches from the noise. It’s a text from Benji, wondering if she’d had a good day.

 _Not worth the stress. Long distance. Letting opportunities slip by_.

Beca’s words buzz in her ear, and Emily frowns down at her phone, feeling the familiar guilt settling in her stomach. _As if this day wasn’t long enough_ , she thinks with a heavy heart. Benji is a great guy, just like Jesse is — or _was_ — to Beca, and Emily doesn’t want to break his gentle heart.

_You guys haven’t talked about it?_

She takes a deep breath, physically shakes all her doubt and uncertainties off, and sends a reply to Benji, asking him if they can call each other tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Barricade - MY RED + BLUE  
> chapter song: Say Goodbye - MY RED + BLUE
> 
> come yell at me: http://fullscaleninja.tumblr.com/


	2. we could freeze time with a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> auditions?? already???? yeah, Emily's totally not ready, but what else can she do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I warned you that this (long-ass) fic has oodles of OCs so it's too late to yell at me now

Sophomore year starts off with a kick to Emily’s gut.

A figurative kick, of course, because there are constant reminders like flyers and newspaper articles of the Bella’s victory at Worlds scattered all around campus that eat away at Emily’s overall insecurities. Also a literal kick, strangely enough, when she’s helping out her former roommate move in next door and she accidentally knees Emily in the stomach while hopping down from a chair.

She apologized and Emily had shaken it off with a forgiving smile, but it still hurt.

Emily had decided to stay in a dorm for her second year at Barden, in a quiet and secluded single where she can focus on schoolwork and rebuilding the Bellas. The alumni — both new and old — had been more than supportive in her choice. Emily suspects it has something about their most recent performance and incorporating all available alumni Bellas into it, but she also feels like they’d taken pity on her and her reluctance to live alone in a huge house.

Despite the feeling of isolation, Emily likes her single. It’s a drastic change from her freshman dorm and its open-door policy, and it’s _definitely_ a change from the rowdy and occasionally hazardous Bella house. The room is small and the bathroom takes quite a bit of cleaning, but by the end of the day, Emily throws herself down on the bed with satisfaction.

Thankfully, the activities fair had been postponed because of rain; Emily’s not sure she would’ve survived the anxiety that had been raking through her entire being throughout the whole move-in process. She had a feeling that with the recent victory and the countless open spots, the Bella’s table is going to be bombarded with singers from every grade. Even the thought of sitting through auditions has her panicking.

Beca sticks to her word and sends regular updates. Ever since Emily received a short, “Just landed in NYC” text, they had been exchanging messages almost non-stop throughout the summer. Life in the city, especially living with Chloe and Fat Amy, seems like an honest-to-god sitcom from what Beca describes in her texts. Compared to Emily’s boring life back home, Beca’s first few weeks in New York are a wild ride that could barely be put into words. And while she misses the tiny Bella more than she wants to admit, Emily looks forward to these messages every day.

The morning of move-in day, before the spontaneous rain and activities fair cancellation, Beca had sent her a message.

 **Beca:** _Good luck with activities fair today, dude. Knock ‘em dead with that cute smile of yours._

The text had Emily feeling like a million bucks until she arrived at Barden and received her multiple kicks in the gut.

But in the back of her mind, Emily still doesn’t really know how she feels about the last night they had spent together. It would be stupid of her to still hold a grudge against Beca for not telling her about New York, but there’s an undeniable sense of bitterness still festering in her heart. At the same time she feels that bitterness, she also remembers the soft look Beca had given her through the open window of the van. And the three words she’d said just before driving away.

It’s absurd that the mere memory of her voice can make Emily blush.

But she doesn’t even have time to dwell on that. If the first day of moving in was a kick to the gut, the first day of classes is a slap to the face.

After finally declaring a psych major, Emily is hit with all of the intro-level courses she’d missed out on her freshman year while she was undeclared. And to keep up with the curriculum so she can graduate on time, she also has to take higher-level classes with the other sophomores. Emily has never felt more unprepared than sitting in a class that she’s literally about to take a prerequisite for in the same semester.  

Activities fair, postponed a week, does absolutely nothing but add more stress.

The morning of, Emily sets up a spreadsheet on her laptop for sign-ups, prints out application forms and fliers, stops by the Bella’s rehearsal space to pick up the table banner and trifold that Chloe and Jessica had gotten a kick out of making, and heads over to the quad. Watching all the clubs set up with their past members and leaders, Emily feels miserable and alone.

The Bella’s table is surrounded by the three other Barden a capella groups, and a few of their members give Emily warm smiles. It makes her feel less crappy, and she manages to return a small smile and a wave without having to entirely fake it. Upon seeing her, the new Treblemaker’s captain sidles up to Emily as she sets up her table.

“Hey,” he greets, helping her straighten out the table banner with the telltale ‘B’ printed on the front. “Emily, right?”

“Oh, hi!” Emily says, searching his face. She knows him. She’s met him on at least five separate occasions at various parties. Oh, _stars_ , she _knows_ him. Trebles. Bass. Dyed hair. _Deep_ voice. Name…? “U-uhhh…you…’re…? ”

He chuckles, his voice impossibly low for such a youthful face and grin. “Ricky.” He holds out a hand for her to shake.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking his hand and covering up her embarrassment with a laugh. “I’ve actually only met you at parties, and we were never… well, like. You know.”

“Sober?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair enough.” Ricky gestures to the Treblemaker’s table. “If you need anything, let us know, all right? Jesse and Benji asked us to keep an eye out for you.”

A surprised smile forms on Emily’s face. “They did?”

“Ah, they know you can handle yourself, but just in case.” He winks as he backs away to his table. “Good luck.”  

“Thanks!”

Cheered by the thought of the graduated Trebles looking out for her, Emily finishes setting up the table and faces the incoming freshmen crowd with an excited smile. After ending whatever she and Benji had over the summer, she had some nagging concerns about dealing with the Treblemakers; of course, she hadn’t expected them to be outright hostile, but both their former co-captains had been dumped by two Bellas, so she wouldn’t have blamed them if they were at least a little resentful.

 _Oh, don’t be so full of yourself._ _You weren’t even dating Benji_.

She makes a mental note to text him later.

And then suddenly she’s being bombarded with girls of all ages, asking for audition information and competition experiences and Worlds and Europe and past Bellas and practice times and rehearsal frequencies and countless are-you-going-to-compete-in-Worlds-again-this-year questions.

Emily tries her best to get to everyone, but there are times when seven or more people are at the table, all asking different questions, and she almost feels like she’s standing in front of a class and teaching a subject she doesn’t fully comprehend herself.

It’s only been an hour since the fair started and Emily feels like she’s dying. It’s hot, she’s constantly surrounded, she’s running low on application forms and fliers, and she _desperately_ needs some coffee. In the midst of talking to a gaggle of girls who seem to be more interested in going to parties than actually singing in a group, Emily feels a hand rest on her shoulder. It’s a guy from the BU Harmonics — _stars_ , she needs to work on remembering names — holding up one of the blank applications.

“I’ll go make some more copies,” he says, and Emily barely has enough breath left in her to thank him. He returns a few minutes later with a hefty stack of applications and an iced latte and Emily almost cries with gratitude.

When noon finally rolls around and the stragglers around her table disperse, Emily practically collapses in her chair. She trudges back to her room, sweaty, sunburnt, and exhausted, and flips open her laptop to see how many people had put in their contact information on the sign-up sheet.

There are over 80 names.

She sends a screenshot of the sign-up sheet to the Bellas group chat and captions it, “is this normal???”

Stacie replies that it’s more than double what they usually get, but Chloe is quick to assure that a majority of those people probably won’t show up to auditions anyway. Fat Amy sends an idle thought about whether the sign-ups were actually for Bellas auditions or for Emily to hit them up for booty calls. Stacie chimes in that she has, indeed, hooked up with multiple people using the phone numbers on the sign-up sheet.

The conversation goes way off track after that, and Emily re-mutes the group chat. She curls into a tight ball on her bed, head spinning and stomach rolling. _How am I going to listen to 80 auditions? How can I differentiate between 80 singers? How am I going to remember how each person sang? Do I record them? Do I re-watch 80 videos again and again until I can pick out a new team?_

Her phone vibrates once, indicating a personal message, and she blinks out of her haze.

 **Beca:** _Deep breaths, Legacy._

Emily stares at the message like it’s her lifeline. Another message pops up.

 **Beca:** _You’ll be okay._

“I’ll be okay,” Emily whispers to herself.

 **Beca:** _You got this_.

“I got this.”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

There’s no point panicking about it. This is exactly what’s to be expected after their big win. Of _course_ everyone wants to join the world-famous Bellas. Emily herself had been so excited to join last year, enough to track down their house and personally audition for them.

 _Take it one step at a time,_ she can easily imagine Beca saying. _You’re managing the Bella’s e-mails, social media accounts, and school webpage. So what can you do next?_

“Publicize,” Emily mumbles to herself. “E-mail the people who signed up. Post audition times and location on Facebook and the website for anyone who didn’t come. Include a link for the application form.”

 _Good. See? One step at a time_ , the Beca-voice in her head says.

“I’m actually going crazy,” she whispers, shaking her head and crawling out of bed. She pulls up her e-mail and starts drafting a reminder for everyone who’d signed up. Emily pauses in her typing, gazing worriedly at the calendar; because of the rain delay, there are only three weeks left until auditions instead of four.  
  
Maybe it’s a good thing. There are already way too many potential applicants, and the shortened time frame might help with limiting that number. At the same time, that’s one less week Emily has to prepare herself — both mentally and musically —  for auditions.

Okay. Deep breaths.

She stares at the three messages from Beca again before typing out a quick response.

 **Emily:** _Thanks :)_

Beca sends back a thumbs-up emoji.

Her body is begging for a nap and Emily has no energy to resist. She’s back on her bed, stripping off her sweaty clothes, before she remembers that she’d wanted to text someone. With a groan, she rolls out of bed again to grab her phone.

 **Emily:** _Hey Benji! I just wanted to thank you and Jesse for asking the Trebles to look out for me_

 **Emily:** _Ricky was an angel and the other groups were also really supportive and it’s all thanks to you guys :)_

He replies when Emily is just on the brink of sleep.

 **Benji:** _Hey, np! Anything to help out the Bellas!_

 **Benji:** _How was activities fair?_

Immediately following his text is one from Beca with the same exact question. Snorting out a laugh, Emily sends them both the same answer.

 **Emily:** _Good!! A little overwhelming but manageable. One of the guys from BU Harmonics printed extra apps for me and bought me a drink!_

For Beca, she adds,

 **Emily:** _He didn’t know my order like you, though ;)_

and throws in a few coffee emojis.

 **Beca:** _Iced vanilla latte, two extra sugars?_

 **Emily:** _:)! Yeah, it was a little too sweet_

 **Beca:** _Too sweet for Emily Junk? Damn what’d he do? Dump the entire Barden sugar supply in there?_

 **Emily:** _Haha, very funny. I think he just asked for whole milk instead of skim_

 **Beca:** _How dare he, that monster._

The giggle that comes from Emily’s mouth is the first genuine sound of happiness she’d made all day. Maybe all week. It leaves her a little breathless and light-headed. She bites her lip and shuffles her feet, watching the three bouncing dots that indicate Beca is typing.

 **Beca:** _Do you feel better about auditions?_

Emily stares at the last word.

“No” is her honest answer. She was _literally_ about to take a depression nap about it before texting Benji, and it’s no secret to Beca that everything about the Bellas makes Emily hyperventilate. For heaven’s sake, the girl had spent the entire summer with Emily stressing about the littlest thing that could go wrong. If it wasn’t activities fair, it was auditions. If it wasn’t auditions, it was practices. And if it wasn’t practices, it was competitions. There’s not a single aspect of leading an a capella group that Beca hasn’t seen Emily freak out over.

But there’s something about Beca, even just her presence over text, that has Emily breathing easier.

“Yeah,” she texts back, smiling a little, “I think I’m ready.”

* * *

The day of auditions arrives and Emily is _not_ ready.

Three weeks had gone by in the blink of an eye, and with her overwhelming schoolwork and dangerously fluctuating grades, Emily barely has enough time to resurface from the tumultuous sea of studying and research for Bellas stuff. Though she’s totally not comfortable with it, she accepts that she might just have to wing auditions and do a ton of recording. And consult the old Bellas a _lot_.

Even though all four a capella groups had chosen the audition date together, Emily had known since before the semester even started that it would fall on the busiest day of her week. Thursdays for her means two back-to-back morning classes and a three-hour lab period in the afternoon, along with a two-hour shift at the library in between.

Lab ends a little later than usual and Emily runs to the nearest cafe to grab a quick bite before auditions, but then she checks her watch and…holy smokes, she’s running _super_ late.

Emily bursts into the auditorium less than two minutes before auditions are scheduled to start, drawing everyone’s attention and looking like a hot mess. Members from the other groups are already seated and chatting comfortably, and Emily realizes that she’s the last one there. Embarrassed about walking in so late with a sad sandwich clutched in her hand, she lowers her head and shuffles straight to her table.

And skids to a halt.

Because there’re already two people sitting at there.

“You’re late,” Beca says, arms crossed, the small grin on her face the only indication that she’s teasing.

“Yeah, what the hell, Legacy? You let us beat you here?” Cynthia Rose peers around Beca, arms similarly crossed.

Words escape Emily. She stands before them, flabbergasted, opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish. Beca and Cynthia Rose trade a short laugh and strike a pose.

“Surprise!” they say in unison.

“Wh-w…wha…” Emily points between the two graduates. Her finger settles on Beca. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” is the only thing she manages to say. Beca raises her eyebrows, confused by the choice in greeting as much as Emily is, and shrugs.

“There was a big event yesterday, so I have a four day weekend. I’m flying back bright and early Sunday morning.”

Emily turns to Cynthia Rose, even more shocked by her presence. “A-and aren’t _you_ supposed to be getting married?”

They both shake their heads. “Nah, that plan fell through,” Cynthia Rose says, also shrugging.  

“Wasn’t meant to happen,” Beca agrees.

“Better off as friends, if you ask me.”

“I hear you, sister.”

“Okay, well,” Emily cuts in, interrupting their back and forth. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here!”

“We’re crashing auditions,” Beca says casually, as if it’s something she does every day. “Technically, all of us were going to, but me and CR were the only ones who could make it.”

“Yeah, adulthood blows.”

“But _why_?”

“Well, last week you said, and I quote,” Beca says, reading off her phone, “‘I’m just gonna wing it,’ upside down smiley face, ‘Would you guys be mad if I just took a nap during auditions and picked the singers who are able to briefly pull me out of my misery sleep?’ with five laughing crying smiley faces.”

“Oh, my lord,” Emily whispers, burying her face in her hands. “It was a _joke_!”

“Oh, we know,” Cynthia Rose says, chuckling, “but we just wanted to come down and see if you would actually do it.”

“Plus, you really are winging it, aren’t you?” Beca adds as Emily splutters angrily at Cynthia Rose. At Beca’s serious tone, Emily feels herself deflate a little. She doesn’t sound angry or disapproving, which kind of makes Emily feel worse.

“I could’ve just taken videos and sent them to you guys.”

“Not the same, Legacy,” Cynthia Rose shakes her head slowly. “Not the same.”

“Okay! Let’s get this show on the road!” Marcus, the new unofficial Barden a capella spokesperson, hops up on stage and draws everyone’s attention. “My ol’ buddy and disgraceful roommate Jimmy’s coming around with applications for each of you guys, so use them as references for your auditioners!”

“Who’s this clown?” she hears Beca whisper to Cynthia Rose.

“Dunno, but I actually miss Tommy and Justin.”

“Yeah, who the hell does the belly roll now?”

“Guys,” Emily hisses. “Shhh.”

She feels like a total teacher’s pet as soon as she puts the finger to her lips, and Beca and Cynthia Rose’s smiles clearly agree with her thoughts. Cynthia Rose mimes locking her lips shut and throwing the key over her shoulder, and Beca nudges an elbow into Emily’s arm.

“Goodie two-shoes,” she teases, and Emily blushes.

Jimmy comes around with the applications, each one with a headshot of the applicant clipped to the front, and starts shuffling out the ones for the Bellas. Emily watches nervously as he finishes pulling out Bellas applications and goes through the pile again to double check. He shoots them a thumbs up when he’s done and moves onto the Trebles.

Beca reaches over to slide the pile towards her. “See?” she hands Emily the stack of applications. “Chloe was right. Not all 84 sign-ups are gonna audition.”

There are only about 30 applications in the pile, and Emily doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious. Less applicants means less auditions to listen and sort through, but it also means there are less people to choose from. With Emily’s limited experience, picking nine new singers from a pool of 30 isn’t going to be easy.

“Oh my god, look!” Beca exclaims softly, nudging Cynthia Rose and pulling her towards the applications in Emily’s hand. “There’s an April, a May, _and_ a June!” she says, pointing out each application.

“Is there a July?” Cynthia Roses asks.

“No, but there’s a Julie!”

“Beca,” Emily says nervously as Marcus claps his hands.

“Right, right,” she says quietly, mimicking Cynthia Rose and locking her lips with a barely-restrained smile.

“All right, without further ado, let’s kick it off!” Marcus motions to someone off stage, and the first auditioner comes on. Emily sits back in her seat, notebook out on her lap, and tries not to have a panic attack.

Even though she had left auditions early last year since the Bellas weren’t present, Emily got the gist of it. The format this year is different; instead of just singing a section of a song chosen by one of the groups, applicants had been asked to prepare a solo of their choice. The BU Harmonics captain had also suggested a quick pitch-matching test, and the Trebles had jumped on that and suggested that auditioners sing two scales as per requested by the groups.

As the newcomer, Emily just went with the flow and nodded her head to all the suggestions, including them all at the bottom of the Bella’s application form. But now that she thinks about it, she’s not sure if _she’d_ be able to get in with requirements like pitch-matching and scales. _Okay, maybe I can match pitch, but scales? Can I do a C scale on the spot? An A major? Stars, am I a fraud?_

She watches as auditioner after auditioner enters and leaves the stage, some of them nailing their singing and others completely bombing. Standing in front of a group of intimidating Bellas in their living room was one thing, but standing on stage in front of all the Barden a capella groups has to be a whole other animal.

_No, no. If I can solo on the stage at Worlds, I can audition in front of this crowd. Maybe. Hopefully._

While Emily manages her mini mental breakdowns, Beca and Cynthia Rose watch silently next to her, arms crossed again and expressions neutral. Emily feels like an absolute nerd, scribbling notes furiously into her notebook while the two veterans simply take everything in by observation, but she’s not about to stop writing and forget a single detail about an auditioner to maintain her dignity.

“Aaaaand that’s a wrap, folks,” Marcus calls, sliding back onto the stage after what seems like _days_ of singing and occasional, unprompted dancing. “Hope you guys got some good candidates to fill your gaps from last year’s seniors! There’re some big shoes to fill, especially since _some_ of us got an _international_ victory—” Emily tries not to sink lower in her seat “— and _others_ got a _national_ victory.” The Trebles let out a whoop. “So, good luck with initiation, and a reminder that Hood Night is on Saturday, so y’all better choose your newbies by then!”

“Shit, this was a solid audition format,” Beca says as soon as everyone starts to disperse. “Why the hell were _our_ auditions literally just ‘sing sixteen bars of a pop hit and you’re in’? How does that determine anything?”

Cynthia Rose shrugs. “It got us a good group for four years.”

“Yeah, out of pure luck.” Beca turns to Emily. “What’d you think? Anyone stick out to you?”

She smiles sympathetically when Emily blows out a deep breath.

“Yeah, let’s take smaller steps,” Cynthia Rose agrees. She slides the pile of applications to Emily. “Sort them out into three piles; one for ‘definitely no,’ another for ‘maybe,’ and one for ‘definitely yes.’ We can go from there.”

Emily obeys, shuffling through the applications and referring to her notes for some of the girls. Beca and Cynthia Rose watch, occasionally chiming in with a “oof, good call,” or “eh, I think she can go in the ‘maybe’ pile,” or “holy crap, yeah she _nailed_ that high note.” She ends up with three piles in the end, each containing about the same number of applications.

“There,” Beca says, sweeping away the ‘definitely no’ pile and focusing on the other two. “Even more focused.”

They start with the ‘definitely yes’ pile, going through each girl and asking Emily why she put them in this pile. Even though her reasons sound flimsy and immature, like “she had _such_ a nice voice,” or “I think she was perfectly on pitch the whole time,” neither Beca nor Cynthia Rose disagree. There are seven applicants in the pile, which would do a lot to fill up all the available spots.

Just when Emily is about to excitedly suggest she just take all the ‘definitely yes’ girls, Beca holds up a finger.

“Ah, wait. These two are seniors. And this third one says she’s only a part-time student, interning three days a week.” She looks up at Emily apologetically. “Great singers. Not great collegiate group members.”

“You would know, huh, slacker. It’s cool, Legs.” Cynthia Rose taps the pile of ‘maybe’ applicants. “That’s why you have this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She nods. “It’d be weird if it were that easy, right?”

They dissect the ‘maybe’ pile at a much slower pace, arguing over the pros and cons of all eleven applicants in the pile. The auditorium had long since emptied, and Beca and Cynthia Roses’s raised voices echo angrily around the room. Emily leans slightly away from the two while they argue about an auditioner named Kelsey, who had an amazing voice but a bad attitude that Emily hadn’t picked up on.

“Um, guys?” Emily finally cuts in when Cynthia Rose jabs a finger at Beca and the smaller girl half-rises as if to start a fist fight. “Hey, whoa. So uh. I appreciate the passion you guys are showing, but I feel like we’re getting… a little off track.” She bites her tongue as Beca purses her lips.

“Right. Our bad. Let’s hear your thoughts on her.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay! I’d rather leave it to the experts, as long as you’re not fighting, so…”

“No,” Beca says sharply, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. “No, Em. This is gonna be your group. You have the final say.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Cynthia Rose apologizes. “We got carried away.”

“Well, uh. I think she still had a good ear,” Emily points out, picking up where they left off. “She was asked to sing an E minor scale and that’s not easy, right?”

Beca gives her an impressed look. “Look at you, Em. You _were_ taking notes.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“Doodling,” Cynthia Rose says, pointing to a series of drawings on the margins.

“Those are just for stress relief,” she says defensively.

“Good point, though.” Beca agrees. “You wanna put her in the ‘yes’ pile?”

Emily nods.  

They manage to pick out three more girls, one of them a junior that Beca adamantly refused at first but reluctantly accepted in the end. They’re reaching the last few auditioners, and Emily blinks tiredly. It’d been a long day.

“How about her?” she says, pulling out an application for a girl named Morgan. “I thought she was pretty good overall.”

Beca wrinkles her nose. “Ah, her. Yeah, I guess she was all right, but she had no _heart_ , man.”

“Heart?” Emily asks.

“Agreed with Beca, that chick’s all vocals and no soul. Here, check this out, Legacy.”

Cynthia Rose clears her throat and sings a few bars of ‘Flashlight’ — much to Emily’s embarrassment — perfectly on-key and with a beautiful vibrato. She then stops, holds up a finger, and starts singing the same section again, but this time while moving along to the beat and smiling. It sounds slightly more off-beat than the first run-through and lacks the vibrato, but the enthusiasm makes up for it.

“Which do you like better?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The second one,” Emily says, the same time Beca holds up two fingers.

“Beats and tempo and key signatures and all that shit? That can all be learned over time,” she says.

“Performance composure and putting some _soul_ into your singing is much harder to learn,” Beca finishes.

“You know how long it took Mitchell here to actually smile while performing?”

“For the last _friggen_ time, it’s because of that boring-ass set that Aubrey insisted on singing, not because I don’t have a performance face,” Beca retorts, rolling her eyes. “I smiled plenty during our first ICCA performance, thanks.”

“Yeah, because you were making heart eyes at Swanson.”

“Okay, this conversation is over.” They’d reached the end of the pile, and Beca tosses the rejected ‘maybe’s into the ‘definitely no’ pile. “Cool,” she says. “So there’re your new Bellas.”

And Emily panics as she counts the number of girls they’d chosen. There’re only seven of them. “Wait, that only comes out to…eight people. Including me.”

“It’s a solid group,” Beca confirms, but Emily isn’t sated.

“W-we can’t add two more? I mean, I think Morgan could possibly maybe —”

“You don’t _have_ to have ten members,” Beca interrupts. “We only maintained that number because literally no one else was on Flo’s level.”

“B-but all these parts! All the songs you guys have are made for ten! H-how…I don’t know how to rearrange anything or take away parts or compensate the sound or…o-or…”

“The number doesn’t matter,” Cynthia Rose points out. “Their _voices_ are what matters.”

“And their attitudes,” Beca adds.

“And their morals.”

“And their —”

“But what about the technicalities of it?” Emily cuts in, wringing her hands. “How do I… re-organize choreo and work around the music and arrangements and… and…”

“Okay.” Beca reaches over and catches Emily’s hands, now frantically flipping through the ‘no’ pile. “Hey. Em. _Emily_. Eyes on me, kiddo. There ya go.” She waits patiently until the frantic sophomore maintains eye contact for at least two seconds before continuing. “Deep breaths. It’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

Emily swallows, hard, now nervous for a different reason altogether. “O-okay,” she whispers.

“Choreo adjustment is easier than you’d think,” Cynthia Rose calls from somewhere behind Beca. “And there are certain parts in the arrangement that aren’t too important anyway.”

Emily hears the words but barely processes them. Beca’s eyes are still locked on hers, staring intently with concern and reassurance that slowly starts melting into… something else? And Emily is having trouble breathing because she can’t look away, not from Beca’s soft smile, her piercing eyes, and her cheeks, which are _definitely_ turning a little pink…

“Hey, yeah. CR, still here,” Cynthia Rose says loudly, jerking the two of them out of their daze.

“Right.” Beca clears her throat and looks away.

“Sorry,” Emily mumbles. “You’re right. Eight is good.” She looks at the stack of applications in her hands, at the headshots attached to each one. These girls are going to be Bellas. _Her_ Bellas.

Her stomach bubbles with a confusing mix of excitement and anticipation.

“Okay. Okay, okay. Cool. This is good.” She says to herself. A horrifying realization dawns on her, then, and she looks up at Beca, panic renewed. “Holy heavens, I didn’t prepare for initiation. Oh, stars. Oh, crap. Holy aca-gods, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, shit I forgot that was a thing,” Cynthia Rose says idly. “We haven’t really had one of those since…well, since ours.”

“Yeah, and yours was pretty half-assed, no offense,” Beca adds, gesturing towards Emily.

“You didn’t have one for Flo?”

“Oh. Yeah, we did.” She trades a glance with Cynthia Rose. “We tend to not talk about it because she literally fought back like her life depended on it when we put the hood over her head.”

“Probably didn’t help that we did it late at night when she was walking alone on campus.”

Emily looks between them with a look of utter disbelief.  

“Yeah, no. Initiation’s gonna be your thing.” Beca decides. “You know where the candles are, you know the creepy vow, and you’re free to mix whatever poisonous drink you want for the blood.”

“B-but how do I…like, gather everyone? Do I just go to their dorms and throw a hood on them?”

“That’s basically what Chloe and Aubrey did.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know why that’s even a tradition for us,” Beca admits. “Pretty outdated. Pretty sketchy.”

“Reeks of Greek Life,” Cynthia Rose adds.  

“I…uh. Maybe I’ll ask Ricky for a hand. He and the Trebles technically offered to help, so…”

Beca scoffs. “Oh, my god. You _bonded_ with the Trebles captain? Jesus, Aubrey’s gonna have a stroke.”

Emily splutters in confusion. “I thought that rivalry was gone? Wait, you _dated_ a Treble! Captain!”

“Yeah, but that was me,” Beca shrugs. “You’re a little more innocent in her eyes.”

“I…sorta did, too?”

Now it’s Cynthia Rose’s turn to scoff. “Like Beca said, you’re more innocent. And more likeable. Easy to forgive.”

“Watch it, bud.” Beca warns.  

“Okay, before you guys start bickering again,” Emily waves wildly. “Can we call this a night? It’s been a long day and I just really want to eat a burger and sleep.” She realizes how rude that sounded and quickly races to amend her tone. “I-I mean, I’d love to treat you guys to dinner, if you don’t mind.”

“I actually have red-eye flight to catch later, so I gotta dip.” Cynthia Rose clicks her tongue and shoots finger guns at Emily. “But I’ll hold you to that burger offer for another time.”

“Wait, you’re leaving? So soon?” Emily checks her watch and _holy crap_ it’s late. “But I didn’t…get a chance to properly thank you.”

“Hey, it’s cool. No worries. Probably the most fun I’ll have in a while.” She pauses to give Emily a look. “Did I mention how much being an adult sucks?”

Practically vibrating with gratitude, Emily throws her arms around Cynthia Rose and lifts her off the ground out of enthusiasm.  

“Holy damn, Junk. You strong as hell.”

“Thanks,” she beams. “For everything, I mean. So, _so_ much. Both of you.”

“You need a ride to the airport?” Beca offers, lifting her keys, but Cynthia Rose waves her off.

“Nah, I scheduled an Uber.” She extends a hand to Beca and they clasp hands before pulling each other in for the briefest hug. They pat each other once on the back before letting go.

Emily doubts she’d ever seen two guys give a more bro-esque hug than what these two just did.

They part ways at the entrance of the auditorium, and Emily clutches her growling stomach. “Okay, burger time. But we gotta run before the cafeteria closes,” she tells Beca.

“Cafeteria?” she asks as if she’s never heard of such a thing. “Burgers? At the caf? Nuh uh.”

“Oh, uh…okay? Then where?”

Beca shoots her a grin, and Emily doesn’t really understand why her empty stomach is suddenly doing backflips. “It’ll be a surprise.” She jiggles her dad’s car keys and starts heading down the sidewalk. “If you’re up for one.”

Energy renewed, Emily chases after Beca, and before she knows it, the two are inexplicably racing to the parking lot, uncontrollable laughter trailing behind them.  

* * *

Emily actually ends up asking Ricky and the Trebles for help with initiation Saturday morning.

In her defense, there are seven girls to kidnap, and Emily’s only one person.

She digs through the Bella’s closet and emerges with boxes upon boxes of candles, approximately 50 more than she’d been looking for. Enlisting Beca and her father’s van, she brings them all into the Bella’s practice room and places them all over the place while the Trebles fetch the new Bellas.

“God, this is so cult-ish,” Beca comments as she helps Emily light all the candles. “The older I get, the weirder this tradition looks.”

“But it _is_ tradition,” Emily points out lightly. She tampers down on the nerves rattling around in her stomach, trying and failing multiple times to smile whenever Beca made a sarcastic comment about initiation.

The last day and a half had been spent holed up in her room, looking through all the applications and headshots of the new Bellas to memorize their faces and names, as well as majors and years. She knows them like the back of her hand, now.

She hopes.

She’s ready. She’s been ready.

She hopes.

 _Oh, my stars, why am I so nervous?_ They’re _the ones who should be nervous. Yeah. That’s right. I’m the captain, so I shouldn’t have to be nervous. … I’m the captain. Oh, god, I’m the captain._

“Em?”

Beca catches her spacing out, frozen over one of the candles, the flame from her lighter not quite touching the wick.

“I’m okay,” she says, more to herself than to Beca. “I’m good.”

“You know the initiation process more than I do,” Beca assures her. “What with your mom’s stories and all.”

“Right.”

“They’re gonna love you, Legacy.”

Emily hesitates on Beca’s word choice. “R-right.”

“So I’m gonna skedattle before they get here, but good luck, okay?”

“Wait!” Emily grabs instinctively at Beca’s arm as she turns away. She lets go immediately, blushing at her desperate reaction. “S-sorry! I mean…um. Do you think you can stay? You don’t have to participate!” she adds quickly when Beca opens her mouth to protest. “You can just…I dunno, sit over there in the corner or something? Oh, gosh, I-I’m sorry, that sounds terrible and rude. But I… _aughhh!_ ”

She ruffles her hair violently with both hands before looking back up at Beca, hair completely disheveled. “I would just like some…some…”

“Moral support?” Beca asks, watching her flounder with mild amusement, and Emily breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Yes. Please.”

“I’ll go to my corner, then,” she teases, biting her lip to hold in a laugh.

“O-okay. Thank you!” Emily calls after her.

 _Why why whyyy do you get_ so _weird around Beca? Just ask her to stay like a normal human. She’s willing to help you out, isn’t she?_

Ricky pops his head in the doorway and signals to Emily, and she scrambles into position. It honestly doesn’t matter where she stands, since the Trebles are leading in blindfolded girls — they’d decided to ditch the creepy hoods — and they won’t be able to see where Emily is anyway.

Beca, from her corner, clears her throat and flips off the light switch. Emily mouths her a _thank you_ , wondering how she’d ever thought she could do any of this without the former captain by her side.

She watches as the Trebles line up the girls in the order Emily had requested, occasionally shuffling two girls around and moving them down to accommodate the switch. It’s almost comical to watch, and she has to give these poor girls credit for going along with the Treble’s shenanigans while completely blind to their whereabouts.  

Right before she starts speaking, Emily prays to every star in heaven that the Trebles had actually brought the right girls over.

“Okay, so. Welcome to the Bella’s initiation!”

“Oh, thank _god_ ,” one of the girls huffs. “I thought I was being kidnapped into a cult.”

The girls laugh, some a little more nervously than others, and Emily feels her shoulders relax.

“Well, it’s not so different,” she admits, thinking back on Beca’s words. The girls laugh again, and Emily’s confidence starts to soar. Feeling awkward about untying each of their blindfolds one by one, she asks them to remove them on their own.

There’re only two sopranos; Silvia and Mel, two freshmen. Three mezzos, Hallie, Aliya, and Kelsey, the one Beca and Cynthia Rose had argued about during their elimination process. And two altos, April — part of the month-name set that had delighted Beca — and Tiff — the junior.

Emily breathes out a sigh of relief; they’re all the correct girls.

“Okay, so,” she starts, swallowing her nerves and facing the girls with the calmest composure she can manage. “The blindfold that was on you is actually your honorary Bella scarf, the symbol of our sacred sisterhood.”

“You blindfolded us with the ‘symbol of sisterhood’?” One of them asks. “There’s definitely a metaphor there.”

“I think it’s kinda kinky,” another one says, and everyone laughs.

“A-anyway,” Emily stutters, trying not to laugh herself. “If you could, um. Place your scarves in your right hand, like this,” she demonstrates, “and repeat after me.”

She has them sing their names. She has them repeat the oath.

Beca was right.

This is _such_ a cult thing to do. All that’s missing is a pentagram on the floor and a virgin sacrifice.

Emily glances towards the corner where Beca is not-so-subtly hiding and catches her recording them on her phone, probably Snapchatting the old Bellas or something. She shoots Emily a thumbs-up. And barely a second after the oath ends and Emily congratulates the new Bellas, she flips on the lights again without warning, effectively blinding everyone.

“Ow, okay. So! The initiation party is at the creepy outdoor amphitheater by Baker Hall and starts around 10, so you guys cool with meeting up then?”

There’s a smattering of agreement, all varying in levels of enthusiasm, and the girls disperse slowly, introducing themselves to each other. As soon as they’re out of the room, Emily collapses into a chair.

“Good job,” Beca calls as she makes her way over, thumbs stuck in her pockets. “And a nice touch, blindfolding them with their scarves.”

“Well all we had were those hoods, so I had to improvise.”

“Quick thinking.” She gestures towards the door that the new Bellas just left through. “You sure you didn’t want to hang with them longer? Introduce yourself? Get to know them more?”

“I…yeah. I should’ve, but…um.”

Beca pulls up a chair and sits across from her. “Not used to being stared at like you’re a holy deity?”

She hits the nail on the head, and Emily pitches forward in her seat until her face is practically buried in her lap. “Holy crap, I’m not ready for this.” She blindly reaches out and slaps a hand onto Beca’s knee. “How am I going to lead these girls into an ICCA Championship? How are they going to trust me? _Me_ ? God, _I_ don’t even trust me.”

“That would be the first step,” Beca confirms. “The second and equally important step would be to trust _them_.”

“How did you do this? Lead, I mean.” She exhales slowly and drops her voice to a whisper, a little ashamed to admit, “It’s so much scarier than I thought. Even just having them repeat that stupid vow.”

She slowly lifts her head in time to see Beca hopping to her feet. She starts circling the room, blowing out the candles by the handful. “Well, I never really had to take on the role of a leader. The Bellas — the _old_ Bellas — were all the same age as me, so I was lucky enough to grow up with them. I didn’t so much as _lead_ , just tried to keep them from killing each other.” She smiles at Emily, then, a gentle and reassuring gesture that makes the sophomore feel a thousand times lighter. “You got this.”

Despite all of the negativity swirling in her brain, Emily nods. “Yeah. I got this.”

“Talk to them at hood night. Break the ice.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Beca checks her watch and winces. “Damn. Sorry, Legacy, I gotta get going. Promised my dad I’d grab dinner with him.”

“O-oh. Okay.”

“It’s been real, dude. Thanks for having me and CR at auditions and stuff.”

“Wait. Oh, you’re leaving? For good? And no! No, thank _you_ guys for all the help. Are you sure? You don’t want to come back here after dinner? You don’t want to come to hood night?” Emily offers. “You came all this way, maybe have a drink with us?”

She knows she’s being clingy, but there’s hesitation in Beca’s eyes and a glimmer of unjustified hope sparks at the bottom of her heart. But the older girl ultimately shakes her head with a smile. “Nah. I should pack and actually go to sleep at a human hour. Plus, I don’t wanna be _that_ graduate who comes back for parties.”

“Like Bumper?”

“Like Bumper.”

Making sure all the candles are out, Emily walks Beca to her car, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward and shy. Beca had flown all the way from New York to _majorly_ help out with auditions and initiation and Emily has absolutely nothing to give in return. She knows that there’s no way these new Bellas would’ve come to be without Beca’s help, and she would probably still be drowning in the sea of misery and hopelessness if she hadn’t come down to surprise her.

How the heck does she put all of that into words?

 _Well, you gotta try._ “Thank you so much for coming all the way down here. Especially on your time off.”

“Not a problem. Seriously. Not like I would’ve been doing anything else.”

Emily doesn’t believe her. “You have some colorful roommates to keep you occupied, don’t you?”

“Oh, uh. I guess? Fat Amy’s always off doing her own thing, and Chloe’s…” she trails off for a second. “Busy as fuck, so. Not like we’re partying every Saturday and getting brunch every Sunday.”

“But still,” Emily shrugs, smiling appreciatively. They stop in front of Beca’s car and she doesn’t know what else to say, so she stands there awkwardly with hands shoved deep in her pockets. “Well, um. Have a good dinner. And a safe flight back.”

Beca raises an eyebrow. “What, I don’t get a hug?” She asks the uncharacteristic question so offhandedly — as if it should be a normal occurance for someone like Beca Mitchell to ask for a parting hug — that Emily can’t tell if she’s just teasing or not. For a beat, Emily just looks at her, shocked.

“O-oh? Yeah? Sure?” Approaching Beca more warily than she probably should, Emily gingerly wraps her arms around the smaller girl.

She wasn’t just teasing. Because she hugs back with warmth and softness that Emily’s never felt from her before, holding on tight and burying her face in the crook of Emily’s neck. And Emily is hyper-aware of every inch of Beca that’s making contact with her in a way that has all the heat in her body rushing to her cheeks.

It doesn’t feel like an ordinary goodbye.

It feels…intimate.

If Beca’s parting words from the summer had a nonverbal form, this hug would definitely be it; Emily feels just as breathless as she did that night. She needs Beca to let go _right now_ before her heart explodes, but at the same time, she wants to hang onto the tiny girl forever. In that moment, she would rather die than break apart.

When they finally do, Emily prays that her cheeks don’t look as red as they feel.

Beca clears her throat and looks down, patting Emily’s arm awkwardly. “You’re gonna be okay,” she tells her. Emily gets a weird combination of butterflies in her stomach and chills down her back, and all she can do is nod furiously. She doesn’t dare meet Beca’s eyes as she climbs in and starts the van, unable to refrain from anticipating another unexpected confession of platonic love.  

But Beca doesn’t say anything. She gives Emily a small wave, backs out of her spot, and drives away.

Emily watches until the van disappears around the corner before heading back to her dorm, head spinning with thoughts of the former Bella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Barricade - MY RED + BLUE  
> chapter song: Hold Onto The Feeling - MY RED + BLUE
> 
> come talk pitch perfect to me: http://fullscaleninja.tumblr.com/


	3. 'easy' doesn't mean it's love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Bellas try to gain some footing on what it takes to be a Barden Bella while Emily stumbles around in the ginormous shoes she's expected to fill as captain of this renowned group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a chapter with a TON of stuff happening with OCs that I should definitely not have glossed over and half-assed, but it's been made clear that I'm trash so [insert 'this is fine' graphic]
> 
> also I have absolutely nO knowledge about acapella or singing so literally everything regarding those things in this fic can be waaaaaay off.

The day that Bella’s practices are officially due to start, Emily wakes up at 5 in the morning with anxiety already drumming up her heartbeat. She stares blankly at the ceiling, wondering if she should at least try sleeping for another three hours until her alarm goes off; practice doesn’t start until a few hours after that, so waking up now would mean stressing for a good chunk of time.

But now that she’s conscious, there’re too many emotions rattling around in her brain to fall back asleep, and since lying there wide awake doing absolutely nothing doesn’t help her in the least, Emily rolls out of bed and starts her day.

Shower. Breakfast. Psych homework. Bellas prep. Dry hair. Get dressed.

“All right, Emily,” she tells her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Knock ‘em dead.” But her voice wavers and her smile looks a little too tight and forced. Even she can tell that there’s something not-so-quite-put-together about her appearance. Maybe it’s the panicked look in her eyes.

Before she leaves, she double checks the agenda for today, makes sure she has an extra water bottle in case someone forgets, and grabs the old applications and headshots from auditions and stuffs them into her bag.

Not that she needs them.

After hood night, Emily’s pretty sure she can pick out her Bellas from a crowd…or a police line-up, if they keep up the old Bella’s tradition of getting into law-crossing shenanigans. Despite her nerves, she’d managed to talk to everyone at least once, interactions ranging from giving the shy and timid Silvia a quick congrats, all the way to having a deep and introspective conversation about the universe with Aliya much, _much_ later in the night.

The party was a blast, but Emily had hardly taken a sip of alcohol, too anxious about impulsively chugging too much jungle juice and making a drunken fool of herself in front of the new Bellas. It was a wasted effort, honestly, because literally no one else had that kind of restraint.

After seven consecutive drinks, Tiff was swaying so badly that she almost fell down the stairs of the amphitheater. Kelsey, despite her prickly attitude at auditions, was a giggly mess after losing a game of flip cup. Mel and Ricky, the only Asians in all four a capella groups, had bonded quickly over the fact that they don’t turn bright red after one drink before proceeding to challenge each other to go shot for shot for the rest of the night. The calmest was April, who destroyed everyone at beer pong with Silvia as her partner. Hallie was apparently an active and well-coordinated drunk, seeing how she was able to dance perfectly to several Fifth Harmony songs in her ridiculous heels.

Truth be told, the Bellas were the life of the party.

And truth be told, Emily was too intimidated by their carefree attitude to join them.

In a stupor late in the night when the party was winding down, she had admitted to a plastered Ricky that she was scared of her own team despite only having met them a few hours ago. The two had been talking about the upcoming year and their new members, and Emily found it impossible to continue the conversation without confessing that stupid doubt of hers.

“But you’re the captain,” he had responded, looking completely awake and sober save for the slight swaying and slurred speech. “There’s like, a _rule_ that they gotta respect you. They gotta love you out of default.”

He was right, no matter how incoherent he sounded. She’d gotten a solid group of girls. No matter what happens from now on, they’re Bellas. _Her_ Bellas.

Their first group picture together was a little blurry and featured too many red solo cups to be posted online, but Emily had sent it to the old Bella’s group chat to gauge their reactions. Needless to say, they — especially Chloe and Aubrey — were much more ecstatic about the new Bellas than she ever was.

Constant guilt rolls unpleasantly around in Emily’s stomach at the fact that she’s the only one not jumping up and down with joy with her new members. Sure, deep down inside, she’s just as pumped as the veteran Bella captains. But her anxiety lays thickly over that excitement like a heavy wool blanket, and Emily hardly has a second to smile at their first group picture before the thought of setlists and ICCAs and rehearsals send her spiraling again.

She arrives at the practice space well over an hour before the Bellas are due to meet. It’s exactly how she and Beca had left it on Saturday after initiation, candles strewn everywhere and whiteboard decorated with ‘welcome Bellas!’ written in bubble letters.

Working methodically and robotically so she won’t have to think about the next few hours, Emily packs up the candles, scrapes away the wax, sets up chairs, props open her laptop, and clears the whiteboard. Beca had sent over an old Snapchat screenshot of the intricate flowchart that Aubrey had mapped out on the whiteboard when she was captain, and Emily spends the next half an hour recreating every box and arrow she can pick out from the photo.

When she finishes, she immediately realizes why Beca had captioned it, “is this bitch serious?” with an arrow pointing to a blurry Aubrey, mid-speech. Emily looks over the flowchart again and decides to scrap the entire second column, because it radiates a certain type of negative, demanding energy.

Finished with prep, she does a quick 360 to make sure everything is in place before turning back to her laptop, the agenda for today’s practice glaring at her from the piano.

“Today will not suck,” she tells herself firmly.

When she checks the time on her phone, there’s a whole slew of messages from the old Bellas, headlined by

 **Beca:** _Good luck today, kiddo. Show them who’s boss_

with the flexed bicep emoji.  

Everyone else had also sent an equally short message wishing her luck or giving her advice on not getting too psyched out over the first practice, and Emily gets a feeling that Beca had told them to put in a word of encouragement. Even Lilly had sent a long string of irrelevant emojis that make absolutely no sense.

She smiles at the messages and sends a “thank you!!” and takes an excruciatingly long time to pick out a dozen of the most random emojis she can find to communicate with the former beatboxer.

Lilly replies with a smiley face.

The door opens and Emily whirls on her heel, almost tripping over in the process. She catches herself on the back of a chair and leans on it casually, hoping whoever just entered didn’t see the stumble.

“Morning,” Emily calls cheerily as April hops into view.

“Whoa,” she says, looking around. “This is our practice space? This is pretty cool.”

Emily joins her in looking around as if she’d never seen the place, either. “Oh, yeah. Just a creepy ol’ abandoned performance space at the edge of campus. You know, totally not haunted or anything.”

April laughs easily, and that should be a sign for Emily to relax, but she only feels more wound up and tense.

“I’m the first one, huh?”

“First one,” Emily confirms, and suddenly she wishes she hadn’t finished setting up so early so she could look busy and not have to sit with April in an awkward silence. Evidently, she’s the only one who feels this way, because April throws herself down in a chair and smiles.

“Excited for a new year of Bellas?” she asks casually, as if this very question hadn’t been punching Emily in the gut every day since Worlds.

“Oh. Um. Yeah! Yeah, totally.”

“Mostly everyone’s new this year, right? I remember only seeing three of you at auditions.”

_Oh, boy, this girl has confidence for a freshman. She’s a people person. How do I talk to a people person?_

Emily decides to go with giving as much honest answers as she can handle at the moment. “A-actually, it’s just me. I’m the only…uh old member, and everyone else is new. The other two at auditions were just alumni helping out.”

“Whoa, really?” April purses her lips and nods appreciatively. “Must be tough, being the only old member.”

She holds back a brutally honest, _You have no idea,_ and settles for a nonchalant shrug.

Thankfully, more girls wander in just then, giving Emily a reason to drop the conversation with April as she greets everyone else. Soon enough, all the chairs are filled and the small talk is dying down and attention is being focused on Emily.

She looks at the Bellas, most of who return her gaze, and her mouth suddenly goes dry and she doesn’t know what to say. Every word she speaks, every action she takes, and every decision she makes will be scrutinized and judged by these girls. From now on. Forever. As long as she’s captain.

_Oh, my aca-gods, how did I end up in this position?_

“So…uh. Hi.”

Some of them return a pleasant greeting. Others, like Kelsey, remain silent with a bored expression. _You gotta do better than that, Emily. Hype them up!_

And for some reason, her overwhelmed brain deduces that clapping her hands together and putting on a painfully wide smile is the best thing to do. “Welcome to the first Bella’s practice!” she exclaims, trying to ignore the way some of the girls had flinched at her sudden and inexplicable clap. “As you guys know, or, uh…h-hopefully remember, I’m Emily. Th… uh. This year’s Bellas captain.”  

Despite her hesitations, none of the girls accuse her of being a fraud or an incompetent buffoon, so Emily presses on. “How about we, uh, start with introductions? Like, official ones, instead of whatever happened at the hood night party that none of us will ever speak of.”

Knowing smiles and embarrassed giggles pass through the group, and the anvil sitting in Emily’s stomach lifts an inch; even Kelsey smirks a little. Emily doesn’t know why she’s judging her success based on Kelsey’s reactions, but then again, she figures that if she can gain the neutral or passive acceptance from the least responsive member of the group, she’s doing something right.

They go around the circle and state names, grades, and reasons for joining the Bellas. Most of them had joined because of the recognition the Bellas had received from Worlds. Others joined because they just wanted to sing. Only Tiff and Kelsey had unique reasons — the former had led a chorus group back in high school, and the latter was forced by her parents to participate in at least one club at Barden.

If Emily was nervous about Tiff being a junior before, her reason for joining the Bellas only increases her sense of inferiority.

When it’s her turn, Emily deliberately avoids mentioning her grade and discusses in length about her auditions and about being a legacy. Luckily, they take the bait and press for more details on the Worlds performance and her mother and ‘Flashlight’ and the OG Bellas. By the time she finishes, Emily’s sure that no one suspects that she’s anything less than a veteran Bella.

“So I thought we’d take it pretty easy for the first practice, just basic warm-ups and drills to get into the swing of things. And afterwards, we can review old Bellas performances and get an idea with what kind of music and sets we’ll be working with. Sound good?” she asks, receiving varying levels of affirmative responses.

They run through warm-ups, breathing techniques, scales, arpeggios, jog two laps up and down the stands, and repeat the whole process before moving onto tuning and pitch-matching exercises. Surprisingly, Emily hears no complaints coming from the girls as they move through with the drills. She’s so used to hearing Fat Amy whining about cardio and Beca goraning through choreo that the girls’ silence and obedience is somewhat jarring.

True to her word, she wraps up drills rather quickly and gathers everyone back in their chairs and around her laptop on the piano. Though Emily had only been in two performances, she shows the new Bellas every performance she can find online, all the way back to the ICCA finals set during Beca’s freshman year.

She doesn’t dare go further back than that. She also doesn’t dare click on the Kennedy Center performance video.

“Dang,” is all April says after they watch close to ten performances. The rest of the girls nod in agreement.

“So…yeah,” Emily adds lamely. “That’s the Bellas. This last one, maybe some of you guys might recognize, was our most recent performance at the World Championship.”

“And that last song was an original you wrote?” Tiff asks. “That’s pretty dope.”

“O-oh, yeah. That.”

“Were you the only one they took last year? The only difference in members from the previous videos is basically just you,” Hallie points out.

“Oh, yup. They, uh. Technically could only take me last year because of…circumstances.”

No one presses her about what those circumstances were, so she breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. “Wasn’t it rough?” Mel perks up, “you know, like being the only new kid? Did you ever feel left out or anything?”

Emily finds herself smiling at the memory of the old Bellas and their frantic senior year. “Well, only a little, but mostly because they had to prepare for an international competition and one of our captains was also juggling an intense internship. B-but don’t worry! This is a smaller and tighter group, and since we’re all about the same age, I don’t think we’d have that kind of disconnect.”

“Whoa, whoa. ‘Same age’?” Hallie asks.

Aliya picks up on it, too. “Wait, are you a sophomore?”

“Oh, uh.” Emily freezes.

_Shoot. Come on, Emily. Watch your words!_

She meets the puzzled gaze of the Bellas, heart hammering with sudden stage fright.

_Well, what did you expect? That you could fake it through the entire year?_

Emily honestly doesn’t know what she had planned to do when this topic came up. Sure, someone was bound to figure it out and draw attention to it sooner or later, and she should’ve planned some sort of reasonable explanation as to why the graduated Bellas had left captainship to an obvious amateur like her.

But she kinda hoped, like, it wouldn’t be the _very_ first practice.

“Okay, we’re doing this. Riiight here. Right here, right now. Okay.” Emily swallows hard and forces herself to stop staring at the ground. The Bellas are watching her with neutral expressions, and she wishes at least one of them would give her an encouraging smile like Beca always does when she’s struggling with her words.

_Deep breaths. You got this._

“Um. So, yes. I’m a sophomore,” she starts. “I only joined the Bellas last year. I was a freshman and everyone else was a senior so they all…well they all had to graduate.”

No one starts yelling at her, so she continues with an improvised explanation. “As you guys may or may not know, the Bellas were almost disbanded last year because of an incident involving…um. A wardrobe malfunction on stage.”

“Is that the Kennedy Center fiasco that was on the news?” Mel asks excitedly, and the others _ohh_ in recognition.  

“Y-yeah, that. But anyway, last year’s Bellas fought tooth and nail to get reinstated. That’s the only reason we competed in Worlds,” she says, gesturing to the photo of them on the stage at Copenhagen, pinned up on the cork board. “And even though I’m…pretty inexperienced and totally _not_ ready to be the captain of anything, I couldn’t just quit and let their efforts go to waste.”

She looks nervously at the girls, unable to read their expressions. Since no one speaks, Emily continues on. “I’m…well, I’m obviously going to try my best as your captain. I’ve already got big plans for us, we’ll be doing the same performances and competitions as the Bellas have been doing for years, and practices will be just as intense. Don’t think I’m pulling punches just because I’m on the same level as you guys.”

Mel gives a short whoop and everyone laughs, even Emily.

“But um. I hope you guys don’t think I lured you in under false pretenses or anything. It shouldn’t have been kept secret, so I’m sorry for not being up front about it from the very beginning.”

And now she can’t stop looking at the ground because she feels the familiar burning behind her eyes, and Emily grits her teeth hard, willing herself _not_ to freakin’ _cry_ because this is totally not the time.

“Hey, I mean, I get it.” Tiff shifts a little in her seat and raises her voice a little so that everyone turns to look at her. “When I took over presidency of my high school’s choir group, the seniors before me left me with like, no direction whatsoever. And it was hard to tell that to the freshman, you know? They didn’t even give me the password to our e-mail account until halfway into the semester.”

“No way! How’d you communicate with your members?” April asks.

“I like, wrote practice and rehearsal reminders on little sticky notes and slipped them inside everyone’s lockers. Like, all forty members’ lockers.”

“Did you not have cell phones?” Kelsey deadpans. “Like, group text?”

“It was a Catholic school, phones were strictly turned off until you were off the school premises.”

“Well,” Emily shrugs as everyone makes disgusted faces. “Lucky for you guys, I’m not _that_ unprepared. As you can tell by my e-mails.”

The story had distracted everyone long enough for Emily to forcefully rub at her eyes and shove the tears back in, and judging by Tiff’s reassuring smile, that had been her intent all along. “Th-thanks for that, Tiff,” she says with a thumbs-up, hoping the junior understands the weight of her gratitude. “So, yeah. This only means that we’re gonna have to grind harder during practice and work together as a team. Everyone got the schedules I sent out, right? Those are going to be your only reminders for practice times, so please please please keep look over and memorize it.

She claps her hands together again — _stars,_ she needs to stop doing that — and shoots everyone a double-thumbs-up. “That’s a wrap for today. Thanks for a great first practice!”

Every starts to pack up and Emily lets out a silent sigh of relief. She’d made it through the first practice. She’d revealed that she’s just as new to the Bellas as everyone else. She’d gained their acceptance.

She’s gonna be okay.

Emily stays behind until everyone is gone and definitely out of hearing range before she throws herself down in a chair and lets out a long, heavy groan. The first thing she does when she gets back to her room and collapses on her bed is text Beca, recounting everything from her conversation with April all the way to Tiff’s timely distraction.

 **Beca:** _Damn, I was wrong about Kelsey._

 **Beca:** _She’s totally a younger version of me._

Which is like, not exactly the point she meant for Beca to focus on, but she follows the tangent and they go off on a conversation about reasons for joining clubs and parents’ influences on their kids.

“But anyway,” she types, dragging the conversation back on track.

 **Emily:** _I really miss being a nobody_

She knows it’s a vague and somewhat random message, but she doesn’t elaborate until Beca responds.

 **Beca:** _?? What? You were never a nobody._

 **Emily:** _I mean like…just another member of the Bellas. Not the face. Not the head. Not anything noticeable._

Like with anything she admits to Beca, Emily feels like an idiot as soon as she sends the message. She buries her head in her pillow and only resurfaces when she feels the vibration of a response.

 **Beca:** _Just be yourself, Legacy._

And she frowns at that, because, like, that’s the _problem_ . If she can be literally anyone _but_ herself, she wouldn’t have this much issue just talking to her team. It’s hard to imagine how she’s the same species as Beca and Chloe, who had oozed leadership confidence both in and out of Bellas practices.

 **Emily:** _“myself” is whats making me into this horrible anxious nervous wreck_

 **Beca:** _That’s not what I mean._

 **Beca:** _I’m telling you to channel your freshman self. You know, before you were thrown into this leadership role._

 **Beca:** _Like, awkward and weird but totally unapologetic about being you. Excited about everything. Literal embodiment of sunshine. Could make even my bitter ass smile. Killing with kindness. That self._

Emily stares at the last message for what seems like hours, knowing, just _knowing_ , that she’s blushing at Beca’s words. And she’s _so_ glad this conversation is over text and not in person, because with everything they’ve been through, Emily doesn’t think she would’ve been able to hide the gigantic smile that splits across her face.

 **Beca:** _Shit. Sorry dude, gotta go._

 **Beca:** _Asshole hip hop artist #71098423 is here yelling at my manager._

 **Emily:** _Oh, ok! Good luck :/_

Heart still racing, Emily forces herself to put down her phone so she can stop re-reading that un-Beca-like sappy text over and over. _Why does every compliment from Beca make you feel like this, Emily? Why is it so easy for her to cheer you up?_

It’s definitely admiration, sure. Beca is basically a celebrity compared to Emily, a born-to-be producer with a perfect ear for music. There’s also the fact that Beca isn’t the type to coddle anyone; from the way she’d led the old Bellas, Emily should rightfully expect a disapproving scowl and a “get your shit together, dude!” instead. A text like that wouldn’t feel the same if it came from someone like Chloe, the queen of pep talks and uplifting advice.

_And maybe…something else?_

And while her mind is racing as fast as her heart now, her body is pulling her deeper into her blankets, spent from releasing all the pent-up anxiety. Surrendering to the exhaustion, Emily pulls the covers over her and risks a twenty-minute nap before her Cognitive Psych class.

* * *

Emily admittedly feels much better during their second practice.

No longer worried about keeping her age and inexperience on the DL, she starts practice with a smile that isn’t as forced as yesterday’s. They get through warm-ups without a hitch. Then vocal drills. Then light cardio. Then vocal drills _while_ doing cardio.

And it works out way better than Emily ever expected, though she would never voice that thought. She notices the Bellas warming up to her and to each other more and more each practice, and Emily feels more like a leader every time they follow her instruction. Though she admittedly had her doubts about being able to bond with the new Bellas as easily as she had been able to with the old crew, they slowly begin to see each other outside of practice, mostly unintentionally at first.

The first time she sees Hallie and Mel sitting together at a table in the library, Emily almost breaks out dancing right there in the middle of the silent room. When they invite her to come do homework with them, she practically jumps into a chair at the table.

Hanging out! With _her_ Bellas! Outside of practice and singing and dancing! Just hanging!

When Aliya and Silvia join, Emily practically collapses from joy. Here are over half of her Bellas, just hanging out, doing homework, and talking quietly to each other about class and projects and other normal college nonsense, and she is _thriving_. Of course, none of them focus on work and end up chatting for hours.

But for the first time since arriving back in Atlanta from Copenhagen, Emily feels _alive_.

In her delighted delusional state, she knocks over her open water bottle while wildly gesturing out a story, sending water spilling all over her laptop. Luckily, she has a rubber keyboard cover that takes the worst of the damage, but as soon as she sees that it isn’t enough to stop the water from seeping towards the edges, she frantically rips the whole cover off and pitches her laptop upside down so the water won’t drip into the hardware.

The good news is that her laptop’s safe.

The bad news is that she had whipped off her keyboard cover so fast that the water had splashed all over Aliya and her textbook.

She’s cool with it, and everyone has to stifle their laughter at Emily and Aliya’s initially shocked expressions, but it’s still a mortifying embarrassment to Emily, who would later lie awake that night, replaying that and every other embarrassing social situation she had ever been in for hours.

Baby steps.

“You’ll never guess what happened in the library yesterday,” is what Mel starts practice off with the next day, and Emily relives the moment all over again, embarrassed beyond belief.

Embarrassed, she notices, but not nervous.

 **Beca:** _Sounds like you’re getting more comfortable with the girls._

 **Beca:** _See, it just takes time and the right people. You’re a natural leader, Junk. Own it._

And she wishes she can take Beca’s word for it and just believe that she _is_ a natural leader, but when she’s so gosh darn awkward and clumsy and musically inept, it’s hard to see what the tiny DJ is talking about. Emily absolutely hates the fact that she doesn’t always have all the answers to the questions the girls ask her regarding a certain measure that sounds off-tempo or a harmony that doesn’t match up or even something that should be simple like what key they’re supposed to be singing in.

She _knows_ that the Bellas are all musically talented and able to work with her, but after confessing her inexperience during the first practice, the last thing Emily wants to do is respond with the “I’m not sure” or “I don’t know” that’s been hanging at the tip of her tongue.

And she can’t help but to glance over at Tiff whenever she stumbles. Because her mind is fixated on the belief that the former choir president can solve any issue related to music because she’s older and smarter and more talented and better at singing and _so_ much cooler and confident and…and…  

_Get it together, Emily. That’s totally irrelevant._

When Emily asks Tiff to stay behind after practice one day, she looks pleasantly confused.

“I know it’s your first year being a Bella and you were more of a choir kind of girl before, but if you ever feel like…” and Emily pushes out the next words even though she doesn’t think she should say them, “…like I’m not doing something right, or, uh… I’m just messing up royally and you just want to push me aside and take over, just, like. You know. Feel free.”

“Hey, whoa, no. Totally not interested in that,” Tiff says, raising her hands as if surrendering. “If you say something wrong, I’ll let you know after practice. Or right then and there if it directly affects what we’re doing.” She offers a sympathetic smile. “I’m not here to overstep any boundaries. You’re the ones the old Bellas chose as captain. I’m just happy to be here.”

And Emily goes through a weird emotional journey of gratitude, guilt, confidence, and crushing responsibility only a second after Tiff’s words. Because while she’s grateful that Tiff isn’t about to usurp captainship or start leading practices, she knows that the junior is much more capable of leading a singing group.

Emily can’t help but wonder if an ICCA championship will be more possible with someone like Tiff at the helm instead of her.

When she confides in her uneasiness to Beca, the former captain throws a curveball.

 **Beca:** _You know…_

 **Beca:** _You guys don’t have to compete in the ICCAs._

 **Beca:** _Nothing’s stopping you from just doing small performances or less extreme competitions._

And she’s absolutely right, but Emily stubbornly stands her ground.

 **Emily:** _No, at the very, VERY least, we have to try the ICCAs._

 **Beca:** _Up to you, smalls._

 **Beca:** _How’s it going down there? Getting a handle on practices?_

Emily glances over at the partial agenda she has completed on her laptop for tomorrow and thinks about all the ones she has to complete for the rest of the week. And for the rest of the month. The semester. The year. She thinks about how much harder they have to work and how much more they have to learn before they can even consider competing.

 **Emily:** _I think we’ll…manage_

And manage they do.

The girls get better at listening to each other and harmonizing instead of trying to sing in the right key and hoping for the best, which was secretly what Emily had done throughout her freshman year. They start to get through cardio-singing drills without sounding like they were choking by the end. They even manage to sludge slowly through the Worlds set, first with the singing parts and then the choreo.

It’s progress and Emily doesn’t dread standing up in front of the group anymore, but it’s admittedly going much slower than originally planned. There’s no way to stop herself from comparing where her Bellas are now to where the Bellas were last year. She’d been a freshman, but she has a feeling she was farther along in the singing/dancing/harmonizing skillbuilding than where they are now.

 _You should be grateful for what you have_ , she convinces herself. _You didn’t even think you could survive auditions_.

When Aliya approaches Emily during break one practice and expresses her interest in being the vocal percussionist, Emily almost cries with joy.

“I mean, I don’t have a ton of experience,” Aliya admits, “but it’d be cool to learn.”

Emily doesn’t have any knowledge on the science of beatboxing either, and since the only one she’s met now communicates exclusively in incomprehensible emojis, she’s not sure who she can ask for reference. Her summer research on vocal percussion wasn’t extensive, in hopes that she would find someone who already had experience.

Hesitant but wanting to help, she risks a five-minute conversation with Aliya about daily drills she can concentrate on for percussion-based sounds, all the while keeping an eye on her watch to make sure they don’t waste any practice time.

But then a distinctly male singing voice, deep and rich, rumbles through the air and Emily stops, mid-sentence, and shares a confused and slightly fearful look with the sophomore. It’s such a low sound that it practically resonates with her soul and stops her heart.

“Was that a _bass_?” she exclaims, whirling towards the group of girls on the other side of the room. “ _Who?_ ”

And for half a second, Emily expects to see a certain redhead with her messed up vocal chords pop up from behind the whiteboard, and a mixture of excitement and mild panic flashes through her. _Oh, no. Not another surprise Bellas visit._

But everyone’s gaping, flabbergasted, at April. “Oh, yeah,” the freshman shrugs casually, “I went to an all-girls school and they needed a low-note singer to play men in school plays. I already had a deep voice, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

So Emily also finds an unexpected bass, too.

Okay, so they manage, sure.

But they aren’t exactly breaking Bella boundaries.

When week four hits and they’ve barely managed to sing through the World’s set without losing the key, barely managed to run through the steps of the choreo at half the speed, and Emily starts to panic. _Did it take this long for_ us _to learn one song?_ And she has to tell herself that the old Bellas shouldn’t be her ‘us’ anymore, which doesn’t make her feel any better.

After a successful yet not too satisfying or progressive practice, Emily slumps down in the middle of the bleachers and looks out into the empty practice space. Regionals were less than three months away and they were going to miss out on a full month of practices during winter break, which technically means that there’re only two months left for them to rehearse.

_Oh, boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy._

_Oh boy._

She digs her phone out of her bag and groans at the late hour and the amount of homework she has to finish for tomorrow’s classes. But then she sees the text from Beca and frowns.

 **Beca:** _Hey, you’re coming back to your dorm after practice, right?_

There are so many implications behind that message, and Emily’s heart practically jumps into her heart, but she doesn’t make any immediate assumptions.

 **Emily:** _Yeah, why?_

 **Beca:** _I’m in town. Thought I’d drop by and say hi before I leave tomorrow._

 **Beca:** _I’m outside of your dorm._

Emily sprints out of the practice room, confused as heck but also undeniably excited. And also slightly annoyed, just like in the summer when Beca had dropped the bomb that she was moving to New York. _God, why is this girl so terrible at communicating?_ Also somewhat worried because this doesn’t seem like Beca behavior if she were visiting Atlanta under normal circumstances.

She didn’t fly over from New York to surprise Emily, and she clearly didn’t fly over to hang out with her. It sounds more like visiting Emily is an afterthought, like a courtesy call since she’s already in town.

The thought doesn’t hurt her feelings, but it doesn’t seem to add up.

She slows to a jog outside of her building. Through the lobby windows, she can see Beca leaning against a pillar and scrolling through something on her phone while the security guard at the desk flips boardly through the newspaper.

Emily approaches her, slowly, still unsure of whether she’s hallucinating or not. But then Beca’s looking up from her phone and smiling up at her.

“Hey,” she says, shrugging off the pillar.

“H-hi?” Emily sounds a buttload more confused than Beca, as usual, and she doesn’t like it.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this. Again, sort of.”

“O-oh. Yeah, totally. It’s cool.”

And it’s not actually cool because Beca’s _here_ in person without warning, as usual, and there’s homework calling her name and an exam next Monday and there’s nothing for her to show the former captain in terms of the Bellas and after such a mediocre practice, she doesn’t really want to talk about their achingly slow progression.

But Emily doesn’t know what else to say because there’s something definitely _wrong_ with Beca — the way she’s holding herself, the way her smile is a little too strained, the way she’s unconsciously bouncing a little — in a manner that the sophomore really isn’t used to. She’s seen Beca stressed, tired, cranky, and even violent on one occasion involving her favorite cheesecake and Fat Amy’s sticky fingers.

She’d said she wanted to drop by for a greeting, but something tells Emily that she wants more than that. To talk, maybe. Or just relax? Hang out? She can’t really put her finger on it, but standing around in the drafty lobby with the security guard is awkward and Beca is visibly shivering in her T-shirt, so Emily points towards the stairs.

“Did you want to come up to my room?”

Beca gives her a look. “Is that… okay? Am I cutting into your homework time?”

“Eh,” she waves nonchalantly, “it can wait.”

Theoretically, it can’t, but Emily would make time for Beca any day, even if it kills her.

“So…” she starts conversationally once they’ve settled into her room. “Why are you, uh. Here? In Atlanta?”

From the way Beca slowly circles Emily’s room, looking at the posters and pictures on her walls, it’s clear that she doesn’t want to get straight into it. She acknowledges the question with a quiet hum but doesn’t respond until she finishes examining the single.

“God, I should’ve gotten a single,” Beca says, settling down into the desk chair. “So much quieter. More personal. No one stealing your shit.”

“It can get lonely sometimes, though.”

“Pfft. Wait until your Bellas really start to bond. They’ll be stepping into your space in no time.” Beca turns to her, and Emily can see in her eyes that she’s planning to ignore Emily’s question for now. “How are they?”

“T-the new Bellas?”

“Yeah, tell me about them. One fact for each.”

“Oh, stars. Okay, uh…” She thinks about it for a bit. “So okay, like, Tiff. The junior. Super cool, super nice, super talented, super…oh wait, you said one fact.”

“You’re not just gonna list adjectives for everyone, are you?” Beca asks, amused.

“Sorry, sorry. Hmm…wow, this is hard. She’s…motherly. Like, always checking up on the others and making sure everyone’s feeling okay and carrying around a first-aid kit and everything. Silvia’s like a little mouse, she hardly speaks and acts super shy around me and Tiff, but she can talk fine to the others.” After a thought, Emily adds, “She’s actually hilarious when she does talk, though. Has the best straightforward comebacks.”

“Like Cynthia Rose?”

“Oh, snap, you’re right! Yeah, they totally have similar responses.” Emily checks her mental roster. “Umm. Mel. Is like, weirdly obsessed with me? No, no, not in a creepy way, just in a…well, she’s basically my unofficial hype man. Hey, no. Stop laughing. I didn’t ask for it!” she says indignantly as Beca chokes on her chuckles, lightly shoving her arm. “She’s just a really enthusiastic person, okay? Movin — moving _on_!” She shoves at Beca again, and the older girl fights to control her giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” She says, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. “One mom, one quiet comedian, and one hype man. Continue.”

Emily tries to fix Beca in a glare, but it’s definitely ruined by the smile she can’t seem to hold back. “Okay. Well, I know you think she’s like you, but Kelsey’s _so_ much harder to work with. Like she never _rejects_ my directions but she always asks _why_ we do what we do and it gets a little frustrating.”

“Nope. Still stand by my word, that’s how I was freshman year.”

“There’s also Hallie, who’s kind of the same. But she’s super good at singing and dancing so it’s a lot more intimidating coming from her. But she’s gotten pretty close to April, who’s more level-headed, so they kind of balance each other out.”

She pauses when she sees Beca biting back a smile. “What now? Did I say something weird?”

“No, it’s not that. I was just waiting to see if you’d actually do it, but did you intentionally go in reverse alphabetical order? Or are you just _that_ unconsciously organized?”

“Did I really?”

“You went from Tiff, Silvia, Mel, Kelsey, Hallie, and then April. And all you have left now is —”

“Aliya,” Emily finishes with a laugh. “Holy crap, totally not intentional. Aliya…hmm. Well. Uh…” she hesitates, not wanting to be mean or judgemental or comparative.   

“What, is she giving you trouble?”

“No! No, god, no. They’re all sweethearts. Aliya just…well, she wants to be our vocal percu —”

“No. Do _not_ say vocal percussionist,” Beca interrupts.

Emily squints at her. “U-uhhhhh. Beeeea…t…boxer? Beatboxer,” she confirms at Beca’s nod. “She wants to be our beatboxer, but she’s not like. Great. Not terrible, of course. But I guess…”

“You’re just used to Lilly’s sick beats.”  

“God, I’m such a horrible captain,” Emily groans. “I just keep doing this _stupid_ thing where I compare the new Bellas to the old Bellas like, down to each person and singing styles. You know what my first thought was when I heard that bass note from April? _Oh, good. We have someone to fill Chole’s shoes now._ And the same with Aliya. Like what? Who _does_ that? Psychopaths, that’s who.”

“Alright, you’re getting ahead of yourself there,” Beca says in her _come on, dude_ voice. “That’s totally normal for anyone to do. Especially when it comes to filling in for lost members and singing types.”

“I know, but… _ughh!_ It’s almost like I just _can’t_ be happy and satisfied with what I have.”

“You will be, dude. Just give it time.”

She gives Emily a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and suddenly Emily’s skin is on fire. “D-do you want anything?” she asks, jumping off her bed and beelining for the fridge, shoving down her suddenly frantic heartbeat. “Water? Soda? Ice cream?”

Beca perks up a little at ‘ice cream,’ and Emily draws out two pints of Ben & Jerry’s. “Shit, Legacy. You sure know how to make a girl feel at home.”

They settle down on the bed with a pint and a spoon each, and Emily pulls up the latest episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. It feels just like summer, when they had marathoned the entire first season within a week on the Bellas’ couch, sharing a giant tub of ice cream between them while keeping warm under a blanket.

“Is this what Brooklyn’s really like?” Emily asks Beca, watching the characters run all over the city.

“Probably,” she shrugs. “But not the cops. Definitely not the cops.”  

They finish their respective cartons as the episode ends, and as soon as the sponsor logo appears, Beca suddenly reaches over and pauses the video.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Emily freezes. “Um.” Is all that comes out, and it sounds too loud and surprised, so she follows up quickly with, “I-I believe in _attraction_ at first sight.”

Beca raises an eyebrow. “That kind of amendment needs an explanation, Legacy.”

And Emily gets the feeling that this is what Beca wants to talk about, that this is eventually going to lead to why she flew all the way to Atlanta. She wants to take a minute to try and connect the dots to see what this is all about, but Beca’s waiting for an answer and she races to respond.

“Well… I believe that you can meet someone and be immediately attracted to them. You know, like, their looks or their voice or their personality or whatever.” She scrapes the bottom of the carton for a small spoonful of melted ice cream but hesitates before bringing it to her mouth. “And yeah, those can act as incentives for you to pursue them. Like date or marry and stuff, which…is love. But at the very beginning? That ‘first sight’? Definitely not _love_.”

Beca hums in understanding. “So you’re saying that any initial feelings you have for a person isn’t really genuine because that would have to be —”

“Built over time,” Emily finishes. “And I think there’re times attraction can _feel_ like love. Infatuation and intrigue and all that ‘what if this happens?’ and ‘what would this be like?’ kind of thing.”

The older girl nods and falls silent, deep in thought. Emily pushes aside her laptop and gathers up the empty ice cream cartons, throwing them in the trash with mild astonishment that she’d actually managed to finish a whole pint without feeling any dietary conflicts over it.

“What about regrets?” Beca calls, licking dried ice cream off her finger. “Do you have any major regrets in life that make you go ‘wow, if I can change that _one_ thing, life would be so much better’?”

“Wow, this is…” Emily nods worriedly, “this is really getting deep, huh?”

“We’ve gone deeper,” Beca shrugs.  

“Okay, as much as I like this introspective side of Beca,” Emily says with an uncertain laugh, “what is this all about?”

 _Something must have happened_ , is the first thing that comes to mind. _Something happened and she came all the way to Atlanta. Does it have to do with family? Work? Maybe they all got evicted from the apartment. Bound to happen with Fat Amy in the mix. Or maybe all this talk about love and regrets has to do with Jesse? He’s still in the area, right?_

And amidst her speculations, a more intrusive thought comes to mind.

 _Is she going to tell me? Or do I have to push it out of her like last time?_  

“Flo came to visit New York last weekend.” Beca starts abruptly but slowly, as if determining the best way to lay out the story. “We went out to a club that we’ve been talking about going to for a while. Me, Fat Amy, Chloe, and Flo. And we…uh, all got pretty drunk. Danced a lot. Drank more.” She takes a deep and bracing breath. “And Chloe and I hooked up.”

Shock hits Emily like a ton of bricks. “O-…wh-…w-wha-…?”     

“Yeah, I dunno, man. We were just like…” She blows out the breath she’d inhaled and avoids Emily’s concerned eye contact. “Danced together at the club. Got a little close. Okay, like super close. And then before we knew it…we…um. W-we were, like…you know.”

“Making out?” Emily suggests, going for a teasing smirk but probably grimacing instead.

“God, it sounds so trashy,” Beca says, rubbing at her temples. “I mean, I guess it _was_ , but…it…shouldn’t have been? If that makes any sense at all.”   

“You wanted it to be special.”

“Oh, god, now that sounds sappy as fuck.”

“But you actually…like truly liked her.” Emily isn’t completely clueless; she’d heard the teasing catcalls from the Bellas whenever Beca and Chloe made any form of physical contact. She’d heard the honest but drunken speculations about whether the two were actually dating or not. She’d heard the quiet whispers in the kitchen about “Mom and Dad fighting again” when the two captains had an argument.

It’s just that Emily never thought it was… _real_. She’d gotten so used to the gossip-style tone in which the two were talked about in the Bella house that it was always somewhat of an amusing could-be relationship dynamic.

But it’s definitely real because Beca’s here and _talking_ about it and _admitting_ to it and _confiding_ in Emily about it and she doesn’t know how to best comfort the older girl but it’s not a situation she can take lightly. For goodness sake, she just practically _came out_ to Emily. She watches Beca, who’s still avoiding her eyes and struggling to find the right words.

“It didn’t matter because it was never the right time for _us_ to happen. And I’m too much of a hard-headed idiot to accept, like, _feelings_ I have so I pushed them aside for four years like the complete emotional buffoon that I am.” She laughs, then, a sad and humorless laugh that tugs at Emily’s heartstrings. “I mean, look where I am. I flew all the way to Atlanta to spend the weekend with my _dad_ so I can run away from my problems.”

“It’s good,” Emily says reassuringly. “Distance is good. Gives you space to think rationally. For the both of you.”

“Still feels like running away, though.” Beca says miserably. “God, I’m so sorry I’m just like, a fucking mess. This is probably the last thing you need on your plate right now.”

“Oh, gosh, no. Don’t be sorry, please. I just wish I could help. Better.”

She gives Emily a curious look. “Well, what do you think? Honest opinion. No holding back. Am I trash for drunkenly hooking up with my best friend of four years?”

Emily frowns at the loaded question and thinks about her words carefully. “I think…well, for _me_ , at least, love is more than just…like, the physical stuff. You know? Like you guys are obviously super close and really _get_ each other in ways not everyone does, right? Usually, ‘hooking up’ is a…a touchy act that usually doesn’t leave space for emotions. But it sounds more like this was _fueled_ by emotions instead.”

She’s hyper-aware of Beca watching her, and now she’s the one who can’t meet her eyes. “So, no. You’re not trashy for letting alcohol take the lead. Neither of you are.” She hesitates before asking, “is this what you meant about regrets?”

Beca clearly stops breathing. Emily waits patiently for her to respond. “I don’t regret that it happened,” she says tightly, after a long pause. “I regret that it happened _that_ way.”

And all Emily can do is hum in response. What else could she possibly say? This is a whole different world that Emily was never a part of, a whole history of friendship and potential something-more that she would never be able to understand. Out of all of the old Bellas, Beca and Chloe had always seemed like the farthest away, wrapped up in their own world with mature concerns and problems that they dealt with in adult ways.

“So nothing more’s gonna come out of it?” she risks asking. “I mean, did you guys talk it out afterwards?”

“Oh, god yeah. We live in the same tiny-ass apartment, it’d be awkward as hell if we didn’t. I mean, yeah, I get why that’s a question, since I’m here, running away for the weekend, but yeah, no. We did. And uh…” They finally make direct eye contact. “I don’t think…I want anything more.”

“Oh? You don’t?” Emily asks, surprised. “Like, nothing at all?”

“Okay.” Beca pushes back her hair and rests her hands on her knees. “I’m only going to say it once, because it’s horrible and disgusting and I never want to say it out loud or think about it ever again.”

When Emily encourages her with a nod, she closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “I think I just…needed to get it out of my system. It was always such a tense back and forth with us for the past four years, with the will we or won’t we kind of thing, and it just built up _so_ much over time. And I think, maybe, if we blew off this steam a few years ago, it could’ve actually amounted to something afterwards.”

“So it’s just…gone? Those feelings?”

“Well, ‘ _gone_ ’ is a strong word. But yeah, it kind of all just rushed out after that night. Everything. Every last drop. Like, the curiosity, I guess. That part’s…yeah, that part’s gone.”  

It sounds so incredibly sad and Emily can’t tear her eyes away from Beca’s defeated expression. Everything the older girl had said and done were rational, calculated, and almost frighteningly honest. She’d talked it out with Chloe. She’d physically distanced herself to give them each some time to think. She’d determined that she doesn’t want to pursue anything further. From what Emily had observed throughout her freshman year, these two are inseparable, ride-or-die friends who ran on the same wavelength despite their wildly contrasting personalities.

The thought of them never talking to each other again scares Emily more than it should.

“So…what’s next for you guys? Are you two going to be…okay?” she can’t help but to ask.

Beca shakes her head sharply and blinks hard. “God, no, don’t get me wrong. I made it sound like we ended things in every possible way, but no. She’s still my main bitch and everything. Like, we’ll be fine. Eventually.”  

Emily nods honestly. “I hope so.”

And Beca gives her a tired but genuine smile and her stomach is suddenly filled with a thousand tap-dancing butterflies.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Beca says, glancing at her watch. “Jesus, it’s late. I didn’t mean to eat up so much of your time. I should get out of your hair.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. This was…this _is_ pretty important.” She watches as Beca gathers her discarded phone and wallet. “Are you sure…well. Are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question, but it feels like it needs to be asked. Beca thinks about it for a second before nodding. “I will be. I wasn’t, before. But talking it out with Chloe and coming down here for the weekend helped.” She nods more firmly. “Yeah. I will be.”    

Beca insists it’s fine, but Emily walks her out and to her car. They walk in silence for a good while, and Emily doesn’t know how to fill it after such a serious conversation. But Beca speaks first.

“Thanks,” she says in a huff, rubbing her hands together. “For listening to my high-school-level drama. And gaining like 50 pounds from eating all that ice cream with me.”

“Is that all you came here with?” Is Emily’s only reply, eyeing Beca’s T-shirt. “No. Absolutely not,” she says, tugging off her own hoodie. “No, I don’t want to hear it, Beca. You’re gonna catch a cold and have to tell everyone that it was from being in Georgia and no one’s gonna believe you.”

They stop and struggle as Emily throws the hoodie on over Beca’s head, the latter neither resisting nor complying. “Thanks,” she says again, quietly, when Emily finishes pushing her arms through.

The hoodie fits snugly on Emily but is clearly two sizes too big on Beca. The hemline reaches the middle of her thighs and only the very tips of her fingers show through the sleeves. The hood practically obscures her vision, and Emily tugs it back as they start walking again.

“I didn’t know you played softball,” Beca says, looking down at the logo emblazoned on the front.

“Just freshman year.”

“Were you good?”

“I hit a homerun once.”

“I’d say that’s pretty good.”

“But then I got cut at tryouts my sophomore year.”

“Those losers didn’t know what they were missing.”

Emily smiles at that. “Thanks. But I joined track instead, and those people were much nicer than the softball girls, so. It worked out in the end.”

They reach the parking lot and Beca’s dad’s van, and Emily can’t stop the weird anticipation from building. What fresh new and unexpected move is Beca planning to pull this time to make her heart do backflips for the next month?

Suddenly, Beca swivels back around on one foot and raises a finger, and Emily instinctively braces herself. “Okay I can’t leave without getting this out because I wanted to tell you before but I didn’t want to make things weirder than it already was in there.” She gestures to the general direction of Emily’s dorm. “But uh. My one biggest regret, aside from… _that_ , is that I didn’t get to spend that much time with you when we were Bellas together.”  

Emily’s mind goes blank. The only response she can give is a strangled, “O-oh,” but Beca continues with a chuckle.

“I know I was going through a lot of shit with Worlds and the internship and the Bellas’ potential termination, but those are just stupid excuses. I should’ve made time for you, especially since you were a freshman and new to Barden as much as you were new to the Bellas. I should’ve gotten to know you better before we all graduated.” She clears her throat, looking embarrassed. “You’re like, super cool and fun to be with. And I regret not getting to know you like this sooner.”

Beca smiles softly up at her, eyes gentle and sparkling like the stars.

And it hits Emily all at once, right then and there, standing under the buzzing fluorescent street light of the parking lot sometime close to midnight on a chilly October Sunday night, that she has a massive, undeniable, all-encompassing, unrequited crush on Beca.

The realization courses through her like a thunderbolt that roots her to the spot, and she’s aware of her jaw dropping open the slightest amount but can’t put together in her brain how to shut it again.

 _Holy crap. Holy crap holy crap holy crap holy cr_ —

“Well, I should get going, since I have an early flight tomorrow morning.”

Emily nods numbly at Beca’s words, feeling a chill shake through her body that has nothing to do with the dropping temperature and everything to do with the tiny girl in front of her, climbing into the van to fly a thousand miles away from her.

“Take care, Emily.”

She doesn’t ask for a hug.

She doesn’t say the three words that Emily realizes she’d begun to crave hearing.

And she watches, yet again, as Beca drives off, wondering if this is how their time together is always going to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Barricade - MY RED + BLUE  
> chapter song: Without You - MY RED + BLUE
> 
> the flowchart on the whiteboard is a pp1 reference to this: 
> 
> http://fullscaleninja.tumblr.com/post/173246489099/do-you-ever-think-about-this-flow-chart-because-i#notes
> 
> Yes, the "today will not suck" is a reference to Table 19, and yes, the "I miss being a nobody" is a reference to Anna Kendrick's book. I've been in a very Kendrick mood recently, if you can't tell.
> 
> prompts are accepted but not always addressed: http://fullscaleninja.tumblr.com/


	4. you never win if you never fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily tries to get a handle on her rapidly deteriorating life while the Bellas slowly (so achingly slowly) start to get a grasp on rehearsals and singing as a unit

Emily’s life is falling apart in every way imaginable.

Her classes are annihilating her with endless papers and projects and presentations, all the deadlines staggered slightly so there’s _something_ due every freaking day of the week. The upper-level classes move at a much faster pace than the lower-level ones, steadily increasing the gap in her psych knowledge.

The library had hired too many desk assistants, so a lot of Emily’s shifts had been taken by the older workers who had priority when it came to scheduling. Which, admittedly, is good news for her academic workload, but a terrible news for her wallet. And a decreased income means less money she has to spend on coffee, which had become her crutch with the countless all-nighters she’d been pulling.

Bellas practices are slowly draining every scrap of energy she has left, with the mental prep, choreo prep, lesson prep, and the actual, physically demanding practices itself. At this point, Emily _knows_ that it hadn’t taken the old Bellas this long to learn one song, and it weighs heavily on her chest whenever they finish up a practice without having solidified anything productive.

And if by some miracle she has a few minutes to herself, Emily doesn’t even want to sit in silence or relax because as soon as she does, her mind immediately fills with four unnecessarily distinct memories: the meltdown on the Bella’s couch, the three words on the driveway, the hug in the parking lot, and the beautiful, breathtaking, sparkling eyes.

The newfound crush on the former Bella’s captain could not have been revealed at a worse time in her semester. Emily could hardly believe that she was in such a state of panic at the beginning of the semester when all she had to worry about was Bella’s auditions and a few introductory assignments from her classes…and just a simple admiration for Beca, instead of this all-encompassing infatuation that she now feels.  

Emily could deny it all she wants, but that thunderbolt realization that hit her in the parking lot after Beca confessed her biggest Barden regret isn’t a feeling she could shrug off or ignore.

She has a big ol’ gay crush on Beca Mitchell.

_Oh, my stars._

_I’m...gay?_

Which is another thing she isn’t prepared to deal with.  

Emily had never really given much thought to her sexuality, especially when all of her past crushes and relationships had been exclusively with guys. It’s odd, considering she’d just spent a year with some of the most open-minded girls she’d ever met — from Cynthia Rose’s open homosexuality to Chloe’s proud pansexuality to Stacie’s almost aggressive bisexuality — that she hadn’t thought about her own preferences and interests since entering college. But with a former Bella as a mother and a gigantic sisterhood of women surrounding her throughout her childhood, Emily has always had female role models to look up to and admire.  

But to be…interested in a woman…in _that_ way is an entirely new concept. Not bad. Not scary. Just…new.   

And definitely life-changing.  

When her mom texts her with a reminder that she’s coming down to visit Emily this weekend, she almost spirals into a panic attack. Because there isn’t a single thing she can — or _wants to_ , for that matter — hide from her mother, and she’s definitely going to pick up on all the stress Emily’s going through in a heartbeat. And with all of the pent-up emotions that had been bubbling inside of her, Emily knows that one concerned “how are you?” from her mom is going to pop the cork on that bottle.  

Emily hasn’t really talked about her stress with classes and Bellas to anyone but Beca, and she certainly wasn’t about to unload the stress about her crush on Beca with _Beca_. 

Which also leads to the realization that Emily doesn’t have anyone to share these thoughts with. Because of her time with the Bellas during her freshman year, she hadn’t really made any close friends outside of the group. And because of her workload and, again, her time with the Bellas _this_ year, she hadn’t had the opportunity to meet anyone new outside of the a capella world. She still chatted with her freshman year roommate from time to time, but they weren’t exactly close enough to have heart-to-heart conversations with.

And it hits her with the force of a speeding semi that she doesn’t have anyone to talk to about her _feelings_.

It hits _hard_.  

So when Saturday rolls around and she’s meeting up with her mom in the student center and getting the life hugged out of her, Emily almost breaks down right then and there.  

 _Deep breaths, Legacy._  

Having Beca’s voice inside her head should _not_ be comforting in the slightest, but Emily finds herself breathing easier at the thought of it. And it only makes her feel more helpless and pathetic.  

When they get their coffee from the small cafe and settle down at a table, her mom asks the inevitable questions. “So? How’ve you been? Classes going okay?” 

“They’re…uh. They’re fine,” Emily lies, nodding.  

“You hardly call anymore, sweetie. I’m gonna need more than ‘fine’ to satisfy that question.”  

“I call every other day, mom.”  

“Not this past week, you haven’t.” 

“I _told_ you I’m gonna be busy, though. There’s…a lot happening.” Which is an extremely abbreviated version of what’s going on inside her head, but it’s not like she’s lying. She’d had an exam and three papers due this week; it only made sense to put phone calls to her mom on hold, since their conversations could range anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours.  

Her mom leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Well, hit me with the ugly details. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” 

“It is?” 

Instead of replying, her mom just beckons in the universal gesture for _bring it on_. 

So Emily takes a deep breath and lets loose. She talks about classes and exams and projects and her awful groupmates for an upcoming presentation. She talks about her job at the library and how she’s ready to quit because she basically gets no shifts there anyway, and the pay isn’t worth stressing over. She talks about the Bellas and practices and drills. She talks about how she loves her team but can’t seem to progress beyond the basics and how regionals and semi-finals and finals seem like impossible goals. She even talks about the anxiety that surrounds the state of the Bellas and what she’s going to do about their set for regionals.  

What she _doesn’t_ talk about is the crush.

Her mom listens patiently, interrupting only when she needs clarification or when she wants to slide in a mom joke that has Emily rolling her eyes with a smile. “Okay, sweetie, I want you to know that I mean this in the best way,” she starts as soon as Emily’s finished. “But you need to get some friends.”

She blinks slowly at her mom. “Well…thanks.”  

“I _said_ I mean it in the best way. But it sounds to me like you haven’t talked to _any_ one but me about all of this. Like you don’t really talk to anyone _period_.”

“That’s not true! I talk to…” Emily trails off, unable to say the name that comes to mind. “It’s hard, okay?” she says instead, “With school and work and Bella’s practices, I don’t exactly have the time to be making friends, and do you know how much time it takes to get close enough to someone for deep conversations like that?” 

“Oh, pfft,” her mom says, waving Emily’s words aside. “You’re overthinking it, Emily. College is a place where anyone can be your friend. You don’t have to spend every waking moment with someone to open up to them, right? You even have the Bellas, honey. Don’t see them as your students or mentees or anything. Just, you know,” she shrugs one shoulder. “Friends.” 

“I…guess.”    

“It’s good to get all this bad mojo out. You feel a little better after talking to me, right?” she asks.  

Emily nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”  

“Good. Because you have more than just school and practices to your name, got it?” 

“Mmhm.”  

“You’re a sophomore now, you’ve got to start looking ahead to your future, to internships and jobs and life after college, too.” 

“…yeah.”

“I get that classes can be a lot, especially since you’re taking overlapping psych courses, but you have to start putting your grades into the perspective of graduation and grad school, not just semester grades and GPAs, right? As important as they are to you and to me, I don’t want the Bellas distracting you from what you want to do after Barden.”   

“Mmm. Yeah, I guess,” Emily says distractedly at some parts while nodding enthusiastically at others.  

“Okay, you gotta spill the beans, honey,” her mom says at last, putting her coffee cup firmly down on the table. “I can’t talk to you seriously when you’re like this.” 

“Wh-what d’you mean?” Emily asks.  

“You’re floating off into space and I feel like I’m just talking at a plant. A very beautiful plant, with cute little flowers and everything, but still a plant.”  

“Th…uh…thanks?” 

Her mom raises an eyebrow. “I get that you have a lot going on, but you’re on another planet, for god's sakes.”  

“You’re mixing astronomical and horticultural metaphors and it’s throwing me off.” 

“Well we can’t _all_ be metaphorically consistent songwriters, can we?”  

Emily sighs and fiddles with her coffee cup. “I have…this weird feeling,” is the best introduction she can manage. 

“Good weird? Bad weird?” 

“Um. I’m not sure yet.”  

“You’re being awfully cryptic and I’m not liking it, hun.”  

“Trust me, I don’t like it either,” Emily admits. “It’s, uh. Kind of hard to get it out.”

And her mom’s eyes lights up. “Ohh. Is it a _love_ kinda thing?” 

She’d hit the nail on the head, but Emily still scrunches up her face and makes a face. “Gross.” 

“It _is_ , isn’t it?”  

“Mom…” 

“Come on, come on, I want the juicy gossip. The hot take. The latest dish. Lay it on me, kiddo.” 

“Oh, my _lord_ , mother. _Stop_.”  

“At least the basics. What’s his name?” her mom presses, and a lump rises in Emily’s throat.  

“Uh. Um. It’s…i-it’s not…uh,” she mutters, heart thundering painfully in her chest. “He,” she finishes in a whisper.   

“Then is it a girl?” 

Emily freezes and looks quickly up at her mom. She’s still smiling serenely and knowingly, no hint of disapproval or malice anywhere in her expression. “Wh-what?” 

“Oh ho ho ho, it is, isn’t it? Your eyes are doing that nervous twitchy thing whenever we talk about someone you li —”  

“You don’t hate me?”  

Her mom fixes her in a wide-eyed stare, her smile falling. “What? Why on earth would I hate you?” 

“Uh. W-well, uh. I just…I dunno, I thought…” Emily fumbles, not knowing what she actually thought. “That you’d…think it’s…gross, or something.”      

“Oh, honey.” She reaches for Emily’s hand across the table and grasps it tight between hers. “I married a man with a beer belly and athlete’s foot and a cursed name like Hardon, and you think I would find you liking girls to be gross?” 

And now with the panic of coming out gone, Emily doesn’t even remember what she honestly expected from her mother. Definitely not the teasing. Definitely no mention about her dad’s beer belly. Katherine Junk is the type of mom who acts more like a friend than a parent, and she’s arguably more open-minded than a lot of Emily’s friend’s mothers. But this is entirely new territory for the both of them, and Emily couldn’t have guessed her mother’s reaction. 

Relief floods through her so suddenly and forcefully that every single emotion she’d been holding down bursts free, and before she can stop them, tears are streaming down her face. And _stars_ she’s crying _again_ and she’s getting sick of crying in front of people and making a fool of herself. 

“Oh, sweetie,” her mom says, all trace of teasing gone. She switches to the empty chair next to Emily and pulls her into a hug, and even though she’s mortified about crying and holding her mom in public, Emily hugs back tight. “Were you holding this inside for a long time?”

Emily shakes her head. “N-no. Not at all. This is like…” She smiles despite the moment and lets out a breathy laugh. “Only like, a two-week-old revelation.”   

“Oh, thank heavens.” Her mom pulls away and regards Emily with a steady gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing you say will make me think any less of you, understand?” 

By now Emily’s ready to tighten herself into fetal position and start bawling her eyes out, but she swallows it all down and gives her mom a tight smile. “I know,” she says, wiping away her tears.  

“Good.” She shifts back to her seat across from Emily and leans forward on her elbows. “So? Are you planning to tell Beca?” 

Emily chokes on her coffee. “What? I-I didn’t say it was Beca.” 

Her mom frowns. “Oh? I thought for sure it was, but then again, I guess —” 

“N-no, I mean, it _is_ ,” Emily admits, blushing furiously, “but I didn’t _say_ that.”  

“Oh. Well in that case,” her mom laughs. “It was glaringly obvious.” 

“ _What?_ How? Y-you haven’t even _seen_ us together! _I_ only found out a few weeks ago!”  

Her mom gives a thoughtful hum. “Remember that last dinner in Copenhagen? When we all went out to eat at that fancy restaurant with the _beautiful_ waiter who gave us a free bottle of wine?” 

“Mom, I don’t want to hear about that waiter again,” Emily says, closing her eyes.  

“Oh, come on, sweetie. You might have an eye for girls now, but you can’t deny that he was an absolute h —”  

“Oh, my _…no_. I’m telling dad!” 

“Go ahead,” her mom says airily. “I already told him all about it. Why do you think he bought that gym membership?” 

Emily shakes her head. “I can’t with you guys.” 

“Anyway. The dinner. I was sitting right next to you, Emily. You think I didn’t notice?” 

“Notice what?” 

“Who you kept staring at.”  

And Emily doesn’t remember staring at anyone at all during that dinner because she had still been riding the high of winning a world championship, but she can see where her mom is going with this and doesn’t like it one bit.  

“I wasn’t staring at anyone,” she says defensively.  

“No, you were.” 

“Was not.”  

“Were too,” her mom says, giving her a satisfied smile. “Wanna know who?” 

“No, mom.”  

“You were staring at —” 

“Oh, my god.” 

“— Beca.” 

“Mom, stop.”

“Just stating the facts, honey.” She points at Emily’s face. “See, your eye’s doing that thing again.” 

Emily buries her face in her hands and groans. “Can we please stop talking about this now?” 

“But I want to hear more about this crush,” her mom says excitedly, and Emily cringes at the way she wiggles a little at the last word.  

“No, we’re done with this. I have practice in a few hours and you said you wanted to grab dinner.”  

Her mom groans. “You’re no fun, sweet cheeks.”  

But she drops the subject as they head to dinner, and Emily feels giddy from the feeling of her newly unburdened shoulders. She’d assumed the hopeless crush she had on Beca would just be a side-thought in the back of her mind, a pesky presence but certainly not a hindering one. Opening up about it to her mother had made her realize just how much it’d been weighing her down.  

Her mom is right; she needs to start talking to more people. 

And if she doesn’t have enough time to make new friends, the Bellas are a perfect place to start. 

Emily strides into practice after dinner with a new kind of fervor, determined to make the best of this group both musically and socially. These are _her_ girls, goshdarnit, and she’s gonna be the best Bellas captain if it kills her. 

“So, I thought we’d start practicing for the riff-off today, since it’s happening in a few weeks,” Emily announces as everyone settles down. She receives a handful of confused stares.  

“What’s a riff-off?” Silvia asks, timidly raising her hand.  

“Uh. It’s…uhhhhhhh…” Emily blanks. She’d never actually gotten any kind of explanation as to what a riff-off is from the old Bellas. All she knows is that it involves a lot of connecting song lyrics, that it usually has a theme, and that she ruined last year’s. “It’s where we…riff…off of…each other.” Is her stupid response.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that yeah, we guessed that much,” Kelsey says with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, um.” Emily scoots over to the whiteboard and clears a small section to title it ‘riff-off.’ “So basically, all of the a capella groups face off, battle of the bands style,” she starts, writing ‘competition’ as the first bullet. “And there’s usually a theme, like…country songs or summer jams or stuff like that. It can be genres or artists or some other obscure grouping of songs.”

“So it’s like, Categories. But with songs.”  

“Something like that, yeah.” Emily nods, pointing at April. “The tricky part is actually riffing off of the other teams, though. The point of the game is to take the last word of the opponent’s song and mash it with the first of whatever song you pick. The _doubly_ tricky part is building off of that new song.” She writes down more words on the bullet list. “Since it’s all on the fly and spontaneous and mostly improv, it’s usually one person who riffs off the other team, and the rest of the team has to join in with harmonies and back-up.”  

She steps back from the board, the words ‘theme/category,’ ‘last word → first word,’ ‘improv,’ joining the list.  

“And, yeah. Basically, that’s it. We just have to stay in tempo, on beat, on pitch, and in the relative key,” Emily finishes, adding those words, too. “The rules aren’t hard to pick up. But actually doing it…yeah, that’s the challenge.” She caps the marker and looks around at the nervous faces. 

“This sounds pretty intense,” Silvia says, and the others nod in agreement. 

“Especially since we’re having trouble nailing _one_ song for regionals,” Hallie points out, and Emily’s stomach turns unpleasantly. 

“W-well, this is pretty different from reading off music sheets and choreo charts,” she replies. “There are technically no designated parts when we’re improvising, so we really have to listen to each other not just to harmonize, but to make sure whatever we’re singing isn’t just…well, just the words.”  

“So what if we’re not soloists and we think of a good song to fit the category?” Aliya calls from the back, raising her hand. “Do we just whisper it to you?” 

“Oh, no, no. Like I said, there aren’t really any parts, so anyone’s free to take the lead.” 

“Sounds potentially chaotic.”  

“Yes, it can be,” Emily agrees with Hallie. “Which is why we need to get used to building off of each other and feeling each other’s vibes. Having similar tastes in music would definitely be a plus,” she adds.  

But, as expected, it’s easier said than done. The old Bellas had made it look _so_ easy and effortless, not only just at the sketchy basement riff-off last year, but in general when they would spontaneously burst into song during practice or at the Bella house. Even at parties. One of them, usually Chloe, would start singing, and Lilly would automatically jump in with a beat, and the rest would follow flawlessly as if they’d rehearsed their entrances.  

Compared to them, Emily feels like her Bellas are a hot mess. They’re quick to jump on the categories with tons of song ideas, but stringing them together is nearly impossible. And while it took the old Bellas less than a full bar to jump on the beat or harmony, it takes them, including Emily, a significantly longer time to match the pitch, key, and tempo of whoever is singing. 

It’s a hesitant, messy, uncoordinated run, and Emily feels her palms starting to sweat, but she doesn’t know how else to practice this. It’s not something Beca and Chloe had spent a lot of time on, considering they were more focused on Worlds, and Emily doesn’t exactly have a good streak in terms of improvisation.

She’s ready to keep running blindly through categories, until Tiff suggests, “Maybe we should take it easier and start a little simpler. Like, practice tying lyrics from different songs together. Beats and harmonies can come later, right?” 

There’s a quiet muttering of agreements. Even Emily can’t help but to join.  

That drill runs a lot better after Tiff’s suggestion, and Emily wants to be happy about that but it tugs roughly at her self-esteem as a leader.  

She lies down across the bleachers after practice when the room had emptied out, staring up listlessly at the ceiling, not yet ready to commit herself to studying at the library for the rest of the night.

 _Why can’t you do anything right?_ the little demon in her head chants, _why are you such a failure?_

She shoves the voice back down into the chasm where it came from and sits up slowly. 

She hasn’t texted Beca in a while.  

Emily had given her the same excuse she gave to her mom about schoolwork and intense practices, so the older girl hadn’t reached out. Beca would probably never guess that Emily is actively avoiding messaging her while practically _aching_ to, and she certainly would never guess that the sophomore has embarrassing feelings for her.  

…hopefully.  

But a part of her wants to talk to Beca about riff-offs and her impromptu explanation to make sure she’d covered all the parts with her Bellas. _No harm in making sure, right? It’s not an excuse to talk to her. Not at all._  

So, against her better judgement, she pulls up Beca’s name and sends her a picture of the hasty bullet list with the message, “Is this everything about the riff-off they should know about? Am I missing anything?” 

Three bouncing dots appear almost immediately on Beca’s side of the messages, indicating that she’s typing, and Emily shouldn’t feel so excited and nervous but she can’t help it.

 **Beca:** _Oh, hey._

 **Beca:** _Shit, dude._

 **Beca:** _That’s a fantastic summary of riff-offs that we never got before._

And before Emily can even respond, a message from Beca pops up in the Bella’s groupchat, complete with the same photo Emily had sent, captioned, “look what Legacy was able to do in five seconds that Chloe couldn’t do in eight years.” 

Her co-captain is quick to respond with a retort that Beca couldn’t do the same, either.

 **CR:** _All seriousness tho, this is pretty tight_  

 **CR:** _If we had an explanation like this, we probably wouldn’t’ve lost four years in a row_  

 **Beca:** _Aubrey? Care to comment?_  

 **Aubrey:** _Shut it, Mitchell_  

Emily smiles at the messages but still feels a looming pit in her gut. It doesn’t matter if she can explain what a riff-off is if she can’t actually pull one together, does it? Her phone buzzes; Beca switches back to texting just Emily.  

 **Beca:** _Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on blast like that._  

 **Beca:** _But you did a good job summing it up. I’m sure your girls get the gist of it better than we ever did lol_  

 **Beca:** _Now it’s just…well, doing it, right?_  

Emily sighs and nods at no one in particular.  

 **Emily:** _Yeah that’s the hard part_

 **Emily:** _Idk how you guys did it, we’re struggling big time. You guys made it look SO easy_  

It’s not the greatest feeling to confess her incompetency to someone like Beca, crush or no crush, and Emily realizes that this girl is the only one she’s really expressed her insecurities to since entering college. She has absolutely no idea how or if she’s going to be able to dig herself out of this one-sided crush.

 **Beca:** _Yeah, because we literally grew up listening to each other for four years_

 **Beca:** _We spent so much fricken time together it’d be weird if we couldn’t vibe together_

 **Beca:** _The best thing for you guys to do is just practice_  

She has a point, and Emily lets out another sigh. Her mom’s _you’re overthinking it_ comes back to haunt her like the moaning of a ghost. Practice. They need to practice. That’s all it is, just practice. Take it easy, like Tiff said, and start simple.  

She slumps back down onto the benches and stares at the cavernous ceiling again, lost in thought.  

 _Practice_ , she tells herself.  

 _Practice, practice, practice._  

* * *

Emily feels like a thousand bucks when she finally makes a group chat for the new Bellas. 

It’s well into the semester and long overdue, but they’ve been getting by just fine through calendar reminders for practices and e-mail updates for everything else, so Emily never felt the immediate need to create one.  

But _man_ does having one make it feel official.  

At first it’s just Emily, messaging daily reminders for practice the next day just so the chat isn’t radio silent. Then eventually Tiff joins in with reminders to bring water and a healthy snack, to which Kelsey finally messages in with a snarky “didn’t know I had three moms now,” which spurs the other girls to chime in with their own two cents.  

Soon enough everyone’s roasting each other and April’s sending memes and Mel’s sending endless YouTube links to songs they can sing and Hallie’s sending selfies of whichever Bella she happens to be with in the moment and there’s so much happening that Emily feels like she’s back on the old Bella’s groupchat.  

And it’s a good thing she made it when she did, because only a few days after its creation, Emily’s being held behind at the library because her replacement showed up ten minute late. She pulls up the groupchat as she’s running out of the library, typing out a quick message that thankfully has no typos. 

 **Emily:** _Sorry! Running late, pls start warm-ups without me!_  

The first answer she gets back is completely beyond what she expects. 

 **Silvia:** _Hey so…no one else has access to this room right?_  

And the first conclusion Emily’s mind jumps to is robbery. Someone had broken into their practice room and trashed the place. Maybe they stole the piano. Or the whiteboard.  

 **Silvia:** _Because theres someone here_  

The second conclusion is that there’s an intruder and they’re holding Silvia by knifepoint.

 **Silvia:** _Oh wait i think shes…a Bella?_  

And Emily almost stumbles over her feet and goes flying because there is absolutely _no way_ she can handle a surprise visit from Beca right now. There’s no reason for her to even be visiting in the middle of the week, is there? Even if there is a reason, there’s absolutely _no_ excuse for her to surprise Emily.  

No, sir, not today.  

But when she finally reaches the practice room and angrily kicks the door open to show Beca that she’s not all smiley and happy to see her — though it would take a ton of acting to make that believable — Emily’s met with the most unexpected Bella. 

Lilly. 

She’s sitting in a chair with the rest of the Bellas like she’s been there all year, unaffected by the quiet whispering and stares surrounding her. Emily approaches the circle slowly, unsure of what’s going on. For some reason, it feels like the setup for a prank. Or an assassination.  

“Um…hi,” she greets.

Lilly waves and smiles, but her eyes remain piercingly alert and serious.  

Emily has never actually had a conversation with Lilly before — not that any of the Bellas really had — and she doesn’t really know how to talk to her. She knows Lilly has an infamously tiny voice and Emily would probably have to be close to hear her, but she’s admittedly scared to be in a five-foot radius of someone who can wield knives and cut down a bear trap suspended ten feet in the air.  

But the girls are now looking to Emily in concern, so she braves a smile and addresses the rest of the room.

“Uh, okay. So. Guys, this is Lilly. She was part of the Bellas last year, as our voc — uh. Beatboxer,” she says, and the girls exchange impressed looks and nods, muttering to each other, “oh, that’s cool,” or “wouldn’t have guessed that,” and Emily shoots the old Bella a confused look. “And I’m…actually not sure what she’s doing here.” 

They all turn back to Lilly, but she doesn’t explain her presence, opting to whisper something to herself instead. Judging by everyone’s confused but not horrified expressions, they thankfully didn’t hear whatever she said.  

“Well, she’s obviously here to help with percussion, isn’t she?” Mel suggests. 

Emily doesn’t want to think about why else Lilly would be here, but before she could tentatively agree with Mel, the thundering sound of panicked footsteps approaches the door 

“Hey, sorry we’re late!” Aliya and Hallie burst in, clutching their sides and panting up a storm. “We thought — you’d be — super late — phew!” Hallie gasps out, bending forward to rest her hands on her knees. “So we took our time getting drinks at the cafe.”  

“Too much time,” Aliya mutters. 

“I _told_ you guys to start without me,” Emily says sternly, crossing her arms.  

“Yeah, but.” Hallie holds up her drink. “Smoothies.”  

“Besides, we heard that you guys had someone visitin — oh, is this — oh? Whoa. Okay, uh?” 

Emily doesn’t even see Lilly stand up or move, but in the blink of an eye, she’s at Aliya’s side. Before the sophomore can finish speaking, Lilly’s taking her arm and dragging her out of the room. The door slams shut as soon as they exit.

They all gape at the door, stunned into silence, and Emily slowly turns back to the remaining girls.  

“Uh. So…yeah. I guess Lilly’s gonna help Aliya…you know. With beatboxing…?” 

“How did she know Aliya was our beatboxer?” 

“Yeah, did you tell her?” 

And Emily doesn’t know what to say because _she_ certainly hadn’t told Lilly, but maybe Beca had said something to the graduated Bellas. Then again, Beca doesn’t seem like the type to gush about every single member of the new Bellas; that’s more of a Chloe move.  

Thinking about Chloe and Beca sends a slight shiver down Emily’s back.  

“I think she just…knew.” Which isn’t a very good explanation, but she wants to get Aliya’s ominous absence out of her mind. “All right, ladies, let’s get in line, we’re gonna start warm-ups! Ditch the smoothie, Hallie!” 

There’re low grumbles of complaint, the loudest coming from Hallie, but they scrap themselves out of their chairs to prepare for warm-ups.  

It’s hard to practice a set without Aliya, so Emily delays getting to that as much as they can, doing extra vocal exercises and cardio drills that no one particularly questions. But an hour rolls by with no sign of them, and since there’s no point wasting an entire practice on warm-ups, they move reluctantly on to the set. And by the time they get to running through individual songs and soloists, thoughts of the beatboxers’ disappearance slips from everyone’s minds. 

During their break, Emily calls Tiff and Hallie over and turns her laptop. 

“You guys are the best judges of getting the overall picture of things,” she says, showing them the mastersheet for the World’s piece that they’re about to perform for regionals. “I changed this part a little from what we’ve been practicing, because I still think it looks weird with two less people than this choreo is meant for, you know?” she asks, pointing out the spot in the song. They both squint at the confusing chart and nod slowly. “Do you think it’d still be all right if we —”  

Just then, the door slams open with the force of a small explosion and cuts off Emily’s next words. All three of them jump at the sound, and a hush falls over the room as everyone whirls towards the doors. Aliya and Lilly stand in the doorway, arms crossed dramatically.  

“Um…hi there,” Emily says, breaking the unsettling silence. “How’d it go?” 

Instead of responding, Lilly and Aliya just exchange a glance and a nod before Aliya comes forward.  

“Drop a beat!” someone calls from the back, but Aliya’s already lifting a hand to her mouth.  

There’s a difference. There’s _definitely_ a difference. Aliya wasn’t a terrible beatboxer before, but Emily can hear how much better the sound is compared to what they were working with yesterday. It takes barely a bar before everyone’s nodding to the beat, and Emily silently puts her hands up in a victory pose and shoots Lilly a double thumbs-up.  

It’s a steady tempo, one that could fit with a number of tracks, and a song suddenly blooms to mind. There’s no time for a pitch pipe; she doesn’t even know what key the song is in. So Emily plugs one ear with her finger and totally and completely wings it. 

 _We're a thousand miles from comfort_  
_We have traveled land and sea_  
_But as long as you are with me  
There's no place I'd rather be_

Silvia and Mel jump in with the background melody, leaning a little towards each other to make sure they’re in tune. April clears her throat a little and comes in with startlingly low bass notes, just as Tiff joins Emily with the lyrics, harmonizing perfectly. The others gradually join in with background parts as Aliya drops the beat with a sound Emily has only ever heard Lilly make.

 _I would wait forever, exalted in the scene_ _  
_ _As long as I am with you, my heart continues to beat_ —

— _beat to the beat of the drums_

Kelsey suddenly cuts in, sliding in front of Emily with a triumphant smirk and stomping the ground twice heavily with her boot.

 _Oh, what a shame that you came here with someone_  
_So while you're here in my arms_ _  
Let’s make the most of the night like we're gonna die young_

It takes less than a bar for Aliya to adjust the beat and for everyone to jump into the new song, and out of pure shock at Kelsey’s flawless entry, Emily almost forget to join in.

 _We’re gonna die young_  
_We’re gonna die young  
Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna —_

 _— we're gonna wake up everyone we know,_  
_We're gonna have some fun  
Gonna lose control,_

Mel’s bubbly voice cuts into Kelsey’s incredibly uncharacteristic Kesha impersonation with a song that evidently no one really recognizes. But Aliya barely misses a beat, complying to Mel’s small hand motion to speed up the tempo a little, and one by one, everyone joins in with some variation of background sounds.

_Feels so good, to let go-oh-oh_

April’s expression clears and she seems to catch on to what the song is, joining Mel with the lyrics.  

 _Hangin’ out’s just somethin’ we like to do_  
_My friends and the mess we get into_  
_These are the lessons that we choose_  
_Not a book full of things we'll never use_  

No one else can pick up the lyrics or how the song goes, but even though they falter a little during what Emily assumes is the pre-chorus, her heart swells at the sight of everyone looking to each other and giving little gestures to push them onwards. Now this is what I call improv , Emily thinks, trying to contain her smile so she can sing properly.  

 _Breakout! Let the party start_ _  
__We're gonna stay_ — 

 _— stay the night_  
_Doesn’t mean we’re bound for life  
So oh oh oh, are you gonna stay the night_

April finally manages to find a transition, and thankfully, it’s a song everyone knows.

 _I am fire gasoline, come pour yourself all over me_ _  
__We'll let this place go down in flames only one more time_  

Emily can hardly believe it. In all the times they’ve tried to practice riffing off of each other, they’d _never_ gotten this far; three songs had pretty much been their limit. It’d always fallen apart somewhere, and the fact that they made it to their fourth song makes her feel giddy and proud.  

And also nervous, since she’s ruined a good streak of riffing before.  

 _You kill the lights, I'll draw the blinds_  
_Don't dull the sparkle in your eyes_ _  
I know that we were made to break —_

_— break, and you take what you get and you turn it into honesty  
and promise me I'm never gonna find you fake it _

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Kelsey mutters under her breath as Tiff cuts April off, joining the others as they stifle a laugh at the song choice.

 _You know, you're not fooling anyone_  
_When you become somebody else ‘round everyone else_  
_You're watching your back like you can't relax_  
_You're trying to be cool, you look like a fool to me_

Aliya drops off the percussion as they make their way into the chorus, and everyone joins in to sing and harmonize to the lyrics instead of the background parts.

 _Tell me, why do you have to go and make things so complicated?_  
_I see the way you're acting like you're somebody else gets me frustrated_  
_Life's like this you_  
_And you fall, and you crawl, and you break_  
_And you take, what you get, and you turn it into honesty_  
_and promise me I'm never gonna find you fake it_ _  
No, no, no_

Through some unspoken agreement, no one tries to go off of the song and start a new one, and they all hold out the last note until Emily cuts them off. They exchange stunned and exhilarated smiles as the echoes of the last note fades away.

Lilly claps quietly from the doorway, smiling serenely.

“Oh, my _stars_!” Emily has never experienced a drug-induced high, but she suspects this must be what it feels like to feel invincible and _limitless_. “Whoo! That was! Wow! That felt _awesome!_ ” 

They all exchange high-fives at random, laughing and complimenting and practically vibrating from excitement.

“Dude, you are _so_ lucky I knew that Miley Cyrus song,” April says, nudging Mel. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have had back-up _or_ anyone to go off the lyrics.”  

“Hey, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?” 

“Mel’s right,” Emily agrees, “it’s good to improv to songs that not everyone knows.” 

“Were you practicing like that this whole time?” Tiff asks Aliya. “You guys must be totally…” she pauses, realization dawning on her, and finishes with a gigantic smile “…beat!”

Seven groans follow the pun.  

“Yeah, my lips kind of feel like they’re about to fall off,” Aliya says, running her fingers over them gingerly. “My tongue’s probably gonna be sore tomorrow.”  

Kelsey cocks an eyebrow and mumbles, “Kinky,” which earns her a slap in the arm.  

“Man, I wish we recorded that,” Hallie says, her tone disappointed but a huge smile still plastered on her face.   Everyone sighs in agreement.  

“Um,” Silvia points to Emily’s laptop, still open on the piano. “Not sure if everyone stayed on the frame or not, and I missed a part of the beginning, but I hit record on the webcam app.”  

There’s a torrential rush as everyone simultaneously bombards Silvia in a group hug and rushes to the laptop, resulting in the tiny girl being dragged over to the piano in a less-than-ceremonial fashion. “Oh, okay,” she says through Mel’s chokehold as they all crowd around the laptop. “This is fine.” 

“Play it, play it!” 

“Rewind it to the beginning!” 

“Make it fullscreen!” 

“Raise the vol —” 

“Guys, I know how to work my own laptop,” Emily says, batting away everyone’s hands.  

They watch silently as she hits play, holding their breath through the whole medley. Now that she’s listening and not internally panicking, Emily notices a few off-key notes, some timing issues for the background parts, and one or two hiccups in harmonizing. But their biggest challenge, tying lyrics together, had been overcome almost flawlessly.  

And the high and positive energy in this video, compared to other ones they’ve recorded of their rehearsals, is almost overwhelming.

“This is awesome, guys,” she says as soon as the video reaches the end of their singing. “You guys were really listening to each other and building each other up and…wow. Just wow!” Emily turns to Lilly. “Thank you so m —” 

She’s gone. 

“— much…”  

“Where’d she go?” 

“ _When_ did she go?” 

“Did we all collectively hallucinate her?” 

“That’s just how she is,” Emily says reassuringly, though she doesn’t fully dismiss that theory.

Still riding the high, she decides to end practice early and give her girls a break. She walks back to her dorm with Aliya, commending her improvements and curiously asking her how Lilly was as a teacher.   

“She didn’t say much,” Aliya shrugs. “Just gave me techniques on how to make certain sounds and maintain a consistent tempo.”

Which sounds legitimate enough.

But Lilly’s unexplained appearance and unannounced disappearance still feels like some kind of collective fever dream.

Emily uploads the video of their jam session to her phone as soon as she get back to her room and sends it to the old Bellas groupchat.

Their responses are immediate, enthusiastic, and overwhelmingly supportive.  

 **Emily:** _It’s all thanks to Lilly! She dropped by and helped out with our percussionist :)_  

Lilly, from wherever she disappeared to, sends a string of champagne emojis.  

A message notification from Beca pops up at the top of her screen, and Emily holds her breath, not sure if she should just ignore it and answer later. But there’s really no reason for her to put it off, so she opens the message and puts a lid on her racing heart.  

 **Beca:** _Looks like practice paid off. You guys sound tight._  

A smile creeps onto Emily’s face.  

 **Emily:** _Thanks :) It’s really all Lilly and Aliya, though_  

 **Emily:** _They pulled us all together_  

 **Beca:** _You’re their captain, kiddo. Give yourself more credit._

Her smile grows. As much as she wants to force it off and control her emotions, Emily can’t stop the happiness that accompanies every conversation with Beca. Whether she’s praising Emily, joking about the Bellas, complaining about her clients, or just talking about her day, Beca just makes her feel…better.   

Crush or no crush, Emily cherishes every message she receives from her.  

After mulling it over, she decides to ask the question that had been festering in the back of her mind for the past few weeks. She stares at the message, thumb hovering unsteadily over the ‘send’ button, debating whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Emily the Friend would ask out of genuine concern. 

Emily the Desperate Crush would ask to scope out the competition.  

She’s not really sure which one she’s being when she finally sends the message.  

 **Emily:** _How’re things with Chloe?_  

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

 **Beca:** _We’re good. Better. Less awkward, more or less back to normal._  

 **Beca:** _She came into the bathroom while I was showering to pee so we’re basically back to normal._  

 **Emily:** _That’s good! …I think_

 **Beca:** _Yeah, we’re good._  

 **Beca:** _Sorry for making you worry. And thanks for checking up :)_  

Emily stares at the smiley face emoji, completely bemused. Beca? Sending a smiley face?  

But she dismisses it before she starts overthinking and spiraling over a minor emoji, opting to put her phone down instead to work on another one of her four upcoming deadlines for class.  

* * *

A torrential hurricane hits Atlanta a few days before Emily’s birthday, drenching everything in sight and causing minor floods. The thundering rain continues on into her actual birthday, and she debates cancelling Bellas practice for a third day in a row just to give herself a special day off. 

She doesn’t, but it’s tempting.

Everyone is wet and miserable as they trudge into the practice room, grumpy from the weather and lethargic from their days off. They go through warm-ups and drills half-heartedly, and Emily can’t even find it within herself to pump them up. After a messy and uncoordinated run-through of the Worlds set, she decides to call it a day, much to the girls’ relief.  

“All right ladies, just your daily reminder that the riff-off is _this_ weekend, so keep your Friday night schedule clear, got it?” 

There’s a mumble of affirmation as everyone reluctantly pulls on their rain jackets and changes back into rain boots.  

“Stay dry out there!” she calls.

“That’s literally impossible,” Silvia disagrees flatly, and everyone nods as they walk out the door.

Emily drops down into a chair once she’s alone in the room, staring out the windows at the gray sky, her silent phone almost mocking her with its lack of messages. The new Bellas have no idea when her birthday is, but the old Bellas had called for a chaotic celebration last year, so she’d assumed they’d remember. It’s almost 7 p.m. and she hadn’t received a text from any of the Bellas.

And as much as she hates to think it, she had expected Beca, at the very least, to send her some kind of message.

She doesn’t want to be disappointed; she’s not a kid anymore, so it really shouldn’t matter. Besides, this is something she can hold over the old Bellas if they — particularly Fat Amy — have anything rude to say.

For now, there’s a five-page lab report and a rainy weather playlist calling her name, so Emily shakes it off and stops by the student center to grab a cup of coffee before heading back to her room.  

And stops dead in her tracks as soon as she enters the cafe area.  

The first Bella she sees — of _course_ , because she’s such a huge loser — is Beca. But even more shockingly, she’s sitting at a table with Chloe, Fat Amy, Stacie, Jessica, and Ashley. Emily blinks hard and rubs at her eyes. They’re not hallucinations. They’re actually…here.

And they all look like zombies.  

None of them are looking at each other or even talking, just silently staring off in different directions, surrounded by suitcases. Fat Amy’s head is pillowed on her arms, and even from this distance, Emily can hear her snoring.  

Before Emily can even put together _why_ they all look so depressed, Chloe notices her standing there. Her eyes light up and her entire expression clears. “Oh! Guys, there she is!”  

Everyone perks up at Chloe’s exclamation, except for Amy, who needs an extra slap from Stacie to regain consciousness. Then they’re all charging Emily and bombarding her in hugs and wishing her a happy birthday and Emily doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Oh, my god. What are you guys _doing_ here?” she asks once they’ve loosened their hold enough for her to speak.  

“It’s your birthday,” Chloe says, like it should be obvious.  

“We came down to surprise you,” Stacie adds.  

“Oh, my god,” she says again, “you guys didn’t have to come all the way here for that!” They’re all smiling, but Emily can’t help but to notice the bags under their eyes. “Did you guys…celebrate without me?” she jokes, which was apparently the wrong thing to say, because their smiles melt off their faces.  

“Our flights were all delayed because of the storm,” Ashley explains. 

“We were actually supposed to fly out last night. We were gonna surprise you at midnight,” Jessica says, looking like she could fall asleep on her feet.  

“Yeah, we were gonna bang on your door and scare the ever-loving crap out of you while you slept,” Fat Amy says. Emily can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but knowing the blonde, she definitely would’ve followed through with that plan.

“Well, jokes on you, because _I_ was up studying,” Emily says triumphantly. She realizes how sad that sounded, and accepts the pitying gazes they give her. “So…you guys slept over at the airport? Oh, my stars, I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t know.” Chloe says, “It was our fault for thinking we could fly out in a hurricane.”  

“But you guys didn’t have to follow through with it, right? It would’ve been fine if you cancelled. Like, I would’ve never known,” she laughs.

“Yeah, but we all took vacations for the rest of the week,” Stacie shrugs.  

“The _rest_ of the _week?_ ” Emily practically shrieks. “It’s _Wednesday!_ ” 

“Today’s also Veteran’s Day, so that’s already a holiday.”

“Plus, a lot of places have tomorrow off too,” Beca assures her, and Emily’s avoided looking directly at her for the past few minutes, but now she can’t look away.  

With the initial shock of the Bella’s appearance fading away, Emily becomes all-too aware of who’s standing in front of her, in person, face-to-face, within reach.  

Beca. 

And Chloe. 

And Fat Amy, who probably knows everything.  

She’s grateful that they all suffered a heavily delayed flight in the middle of the week just for her birthday, but she’s also nervous being the center of attention with everything that’d happened between the two former captains.  

Honestly, Emily doesn’t want Chloe to _ever_ find out about her crush on Beca; she’s been on the receiving end of Chloe’s anger before at last year’s riff-off, and it had been one of the scariest things she’d ever experienced.  

“So taking one vacation day really isn’t a big deal.” Beca’s still speaking, and Emily snaps out of it.  

“But…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but isn’t it a little much? To come all the way down for _just_ my birthday?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Legacy.” Fat Amy says bluntly, “your birthday’s just a pit stop.”  

“What she means is,” says Chloe, gently pushing Amy out of the way. “We all had different reasons for coming down south for the weekend. Like, I came down for a girl’s trip with high school friends. Jess and Ash are going to Jess’s sister’s wedding on Friday.”  

“Oh, and me too,” Stacie chimes in. “I also got an invite, so.” 

Emily gives her a puzzled look. “Why…were you invited to Jessica’s sister’s wedding?”   

“Hooked up with their brother junior year.” She winks and Jessica shudders. “He asked me to be his plus one.”  

“And Fat Amy,” Chloe continues on, ignoring everyone’s pained expressions, “came here for —” 

“A good time,” Amy cuts in, eyes shifting evasively. “Yeah, that’s it. Just a good time.”  

Emily turns to Beca, who just shrugs. “Riff-off.”  

“You…flew in from New York during a hurricane…to watch the riff-off,” Emily says uncertainly.

“Worth it.”  

“Is it?” 

“Yeah, we asked the same thing.” Stacie rolls her eyes. “Music nerd.”  

“We were in a _singing_ group together,” Beca snaps back. “We’re _all_ music nerds.”   

Emily gets a feeling that Beca isn’t giving them her whole reason, but with all the surprise visits she’d pulled, Emily knows she isn’t about to reveal her true intentions any time soon. So she shrugs and pulls them all into another group hug, thanking them profusely for coming.

“Okay, that’s enough hugging, let’s go eat,” Stacie says, detaching herself from the group.

“Wait, I gotta pee first.” Fat Amy also detaches herself.

“Me too,” Jessica and Ashley say in unison.

“Ohh bathroom party,” Stacie joins.

“We’ll be right back,” Beca says apologetically. She and Chloe trade a look before the smaller girl rushes off to follow the others.

Which leaves Emily alone.

With Chloe.

_Oh, boy._

She’d actually never spent time alone with Chloe, who had been a hysterical and somewhat intimidating mess last year, so Emily doesn’t really know her outside of the Bellas. All she knows is that they both have feelings for the same tiny angry DJ.  

“Sorry to drop in on you like this.” Chloe says, watching the girls disappear into the bathroom. “You probably have, like, a ton of work to do.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Emily says honestly. “It really means a lot that you guys came today. And I’m kind of…used to pushing back homework time for surprise visits.” 

Chloe hums thoughtfully in response, now staring off into the distance. She suddenly turns to Emily, eyes piercing right through her soul. Emily had forgotten just how bright and sharp Chloe’s eyes are, and shems vividly thrown backwards into the dark basement of last year’s riff-off.  

“Beca told me that you know,” she says calmly. “About us.” 

“O-oh. Yeah,” Emily says. This is exactly what she _didn’t_ want to talk about. “That you guys…yeah. She told me.”  

Chloe purses her lips, eyes searching Emily’s face. “I just want you to know that a few of us went out for drinks again a few nights ago. And nothing happened.”

“Oh. That’s goo…wait, I’m sorry. Is that good? Or is that…did you…want…?” Emily trails off hesitantly, not sure if she should even voice the question lest Chloe explode on her.  

Or worse, pick up on her feelings.  

“Neither, I guess. Beca’s…made her feelings clear.”

“And what about yours?” Chloe’s eyes widen a fraction at Emily’s question. “I-I mean, are you okay with it? Or just, you know. Okay in general?”  

She smiles, then, and beyond the dark circles under her eyes, Emily sees a hint of the old Chloe. The one that had encouraged her to audition in front of the Bellas. The one who pumped up the party like it was her daggon job.

And Emily mirrors her smile, relieved that she’s not about to die under the ginger’s wrath.

“I’m okay, Em. Well, better. We have…closure, of a sort.”

“Of a sort?" 

Chloe nods, eyes wandering back to the bathroom where the girls are emerging one by one. “Of a sort,” she repeats. “It’s also refreshing to see someone else pining for that little weirdo.” She shoots Emily a wink.

“W-wait, what does that…”

But the girls are back and grabbing their suitcases and Chloe’s looking away with a knowing smile.  

“All right, who’s ready for a birthday dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Barricade - MY RED + BLUE  
> chapter song: Color - MY RED + BLUE
> 
> one of the cardinal sins the Pitch Perfect franchise committed was never having them sing a Paramore or Avril Lavigne or Kesha song so I took the liberty of FIXING THAT YOU'RE WELCOME UNIVERSAL (even though Stay The Night isn't a Paramore song)
> 
> I don't know if ANY of those songs would be able to be strung together riff-off style, but listen...I'm an amateur in music and have absolutely no music theory knowledge so I just tied the lyrics together. I'm aware that the bpm for all of those songs are...very different, so
> 
> songs used (in order):  
> Rather Be - Clean Bandit  
> Die Young - Kesha  
> Breakout - Miley Cyrus  
> Stay The Night - Zedd  
> Complicated - Avril Lavigne


	5. took a girl like you to change my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT: the Bellas lose the riff-off, but let's be real, it's not like we didn't expect that. Saddled with yet another riff-off loss and increasing frustrations at practice, Emily really starts to feel the pressure as the Bellas near their holiday breaks and the upcoming regional competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I posted so it's okay if you don't know what's going on bc I don't know what's going on either. On that note please don't hate on my continuity errors but feel free to point them out LOL

Emily lies on her back on the cold concrete and stares up at the starless sky, silently begging the darkness to swallow her up.

This was the _one night_ things were supposed to go flawlessly. They’d practiced. They’d prepared. They’d clicked. They’d perfected. Everyone had been feeling good and confident and ready. They were wholly prepared to conquer the night and go home with a victory.

And what does Emily do? Screw it up like she always does, that’s what.

From somewhere next to her, Beca and Stacie exchange a muttered conversation about chord progressions and keeping the tempo steady, and Emily feels like she should listen in and learn something while she’s just lying there but she has no willpower to even lift her head. Instead she listens to the unmistakable bass notes from Ricky reverberating around the empty pool, clearly audible over the enthusiastic cheers from the audience, and wonders how he’s able to handle leadership so easily compared to her.

Okay, so maybe messing up the riff-off for a second year in a row has nothing to do with her leadership skills, but Emily just wants to wallow in her miserable inadequacy and blow things out of proportion for the time being.

This was supposed to be the perfect opportunity for her to prove to everyone that the Bellas aren’t finished just because 99 percent of the members graduated last year. Stacie had even left Jessica’s sister’s wedding early to meet the new Bellas. Thinking back to how she had assured both Beca and Stacie how the Bellas were finally going to win a riff-off (since apparently even the old crew had never managed to win), Emily feels like the biggest idiot.

She’d apologized profusely to the Bellas — _her_ Bellas — as they clambered defeatedly out of the pool to join the audience and watch the rest of the competition from above. Emily had sat down heavily next to Stacie and immediately thrown herself backwards on the ground so she looked as ashamed as she felt.

“Hey, come on,” Beca had tried to comfort her while Stacie fruitlessly attempted to nudge her into a sitting position. “It was a small mistake, don’t overthink it. We’d lost in much worse ways before.”

“Like panicking and singing an original song instead of a 90s hip hop jam?” Emily had retorted glumly.  

When Jesse and Benji had materialized above her to say hi, Emily contemplated rolling over the ledge into the waterless pool. Not only did she make a fool of herself in front of the entire Barden a capella community and their friends and fans, but she’d also done it in front of all of the graduates who’d decided to drop by.

She would’ve taken the broken neck or severe concussion; anything but being pitied by the alumni that she revered like idols. Reassuring words of praise were barely a step higher than being booed by the Green Bay Packers, because Emily knows if they really expected the Bellas to win, they would’ve been a little more disappointed at their loss.

So she stays on the ground as the crowd cheers and boos at whatever’s still going on in the pool.

Staring into the void of the night sky, Emily can’t help but to replay the embarrassing moment over and over again in her head. Beca’s right; it was a small mistake she shouldn’t feel so distraught over. But considering that she’s the god-freaking _captain_ of the Bellas now and that it’s the second time she’d effed up a riff-off, the small mistake seems like the end of her life.

Stacie suddenly leans over to pop her head into view, dragging Emily back to earth. “Hey there,” she says cheerily, pinching at Emily’s cheek.

“No,” she grumbles back, swatting the hand away from her face. “Emily’s not home right now.”

“Well she better get her butt home because the riff-off is over and we’re about to go par- _tay_.”

“I don’t wanna go ‘par-tay,’ Stacie. I wanna lie here until I decay into the cement through osmosis.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how science works,” Jesse quips, jumping to his feet and offering Emily a hand. “C’mon kiddo. Guarantee you’ll feel better with a couple drinks in you.”

She rolls over stubbornly and crosses her arms tightly. “Nuh.”

“Hey,” Aliya says tentatively, squatting down so she’s closer to Emily. “We’re gonna head over to the Treble’s for the afterparty. You’re coming, right?”

Emily blinks slowly and sighs, not even bothering to sit up and present herself as a dignified captain. “Yeah,” she says tiredly. “You guys go ahead. I’ll be there soon.”

Mel squats down next to Aliya. “It was an honest mistake; we all know that. You don’t have to beat yourself up over it, okay?” Above her, all the Bellas nod understandingly. It makes Emily feel worse.

“We’ll catch up with you guys.” Jesse tells them. “Make sure the Trebles save some drinks for us.”

“Okay then, we’ll see you there!”

“You better come, cap!”

“Bye!”

“We’re gonna assume you died if you don’t show up!”

Emily listens to their cheerful farewells and receding footsteps and rolls back over to face the sky as soon as she’s sure they’re out of the vicinity. “God, they hate me,” she groans, covering her face with her hands.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Em,” Stacie laughs, rolling her eyes a little. “None of them hate you.”

“Well, they should. I’m an awful captain and I deserve to be stabbed in the back by every single one of them, Julius-Caesar-style.”

“Wow, that escalated quickly.”

“Come on, man. It’s just a riff-off,” Beca says, poking at Emily’s shoulder. “We like, never win these things anyway.”

“But we could’ve!”

She feels like a ridiculous drama queen, curled up on the ground with four renowned a capella alumni squatting around her, trying to coax her awake to go to a raunchy afterparty of an unofficial singing competition.

“You guys…go ahead too. I just wanna die here for a little bit.”

“You mean ‘lie’ here?”

“I know what I said,” she snaps at Jesse.  

They glance at each other over Emily’s motionless body, clearly hesitant about leaving her behind in such a state.

“I’ll-uh. I’ll keep her company,” Benji pipes up, earning a few raised eyebrows. Emily can’t stop herself from rethinking the whole lie-here-stubbornly tactic at the suggestion from her somewhat-ex; if she’d wanted anyone to stay behind, it probably would’ve been Stacie, who has absolutely no role to play in her messy barrage of _feelings_ that Beca, Benji, and Jesse have in her crazy imaginary love rectangle.

But then everyone’s leaving and Benji’s taking a seat next to Emily and soon enough she’s left all alone with the boy she’d broken up with over the phone. They’ve been texting now and then about Barden and singing and whatnot, but this is the first time they were face to face and alone since Worlds. When she had kissed him.

 _Man, we’ve come a long way from there_ , Emily thinks to herself, and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” she says, breathing out a heavy sigh. “You came all this way and I’m being a total drag.”

“No, not at all,” he says lightly. “You’re stressed. I get it.”

Emily stares down at the empty pool, a pitch black pit now that the spotlights and flashlights from the audience were gone. It’s hard to imagine that only a few minutes ago, this grimy cement bowl had been filled with the beautiful sound of harmonizing voices and encouraging cheers. It’s even harder to imagine that less than two years ago, Benji, Jesse, Beca, and all of the other graduates had gathered here to compete themselves.

“We _really_ came a long way from there,” she says to herself.

“What was that?”

She thinks about repeating and explaining her comment, but instead she just shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Benji’s sitting close enough for their arms to brush if she leaned a little to the side; Emily can practically feel the heat radiating off of him through the chilly November air. That’s something she’d always liked about him, how warm he is, no matter the weather. She remembers cuddling up to him on the plane ride home from Copenhagen, holding him close to fend off the dry, frigid AC of the plane.

She wonders how she could leave someone so sweet and caring like Benji to chase after someone so impenetrable and prickly like Beca. Emily had always been one to stick to the safe route, to take the road more travelled by, and Benji was most certainly that comfortably paved path. So is her infatuation with Beca just some rebellious phase? Is it just because she craves something different? Something more...risky?

“Do you remember that conversation we had last year?” Benji suddenly asks, bumping his shoulder against hers. “You know, after we both humiliated ourselves at the weird underground riff-off in that guy’s basement?”

Emily closes her eyes. “Not sure if this is the best time to go down that memory lane, but okay.”

“Sorry,” he says, laughing nervously. “I meant to emphasize the conversation we had, not the part about how we — well anyway. That was the first time we really talked, remember? Like, not just me making up words or suffocating you in vanishing smoke.”

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Emily nods, smiling a little at the memory. It honestly hadn’t been the most invigorating conversation, especially since they were screaming at each other over the rancorous din of a party, but she remembers that… “…That was the first time I felt like there was someone else here who floated outside of the circle of perfect a capella synchronization. Someone else who made mistakes and screwed it up for everyone else.” She closes her eyes again, regretting literally every word of that sentence. “Wow. That came out _so_ wrong. I’m sorry, that’s totally not how I meant it to sound.”

“No, no, you’re right. Honestly I felt the same way.” He picks up a pebble from the edge of the pool and tosses it into the pit. They listen to it bounce and echo against the cement. “It’s not easy being part of a group that requires so much teamwork. Especially if you’ve always…well, like you said. If you’ve always floated outside of the circle.”

And Emily realizes that was the reason they had clicked so well last year. They were both the underdogs, Emily in age and Benji in awkwardness, and being constantly surrounded by friendly but intimidating women who knew each other so well they practically breathed in synch outside of practice had been a little more draining than she’d ever dared to admit. Benji was the perfect balance of musical competence versus social incompetence and charming compliments versus bumbling foolishness.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Emily whispers. “Wow, that sounded bad too. But I mean…you don’t exactly lead with an iron fist either. Not like Chloe or Beca. But the Trebles still always placed at the Championships, even if it was second place after the Bellas.” She follows suit and flicks a pebble into the pool. “I don’t even know if I can get us into semifinals at this rate.”

Benji shrugs. “You have it harder,” he says, nodding his head towards the exit. “I wouldn’t have lasted a day as captain if I didn’t have Jesse. Heck, I wouldn’t even have made it into the Trebles without him. No matter what, he was always right there by my side, and it would’ve been chaos if he hadn’t been there.”

Emily feels his eyes on her but she refuses to look over. She’d been avoiding making too much eye contact all night purely out of shame and guilt she knows she doesn’t have to feel. The more she talks to him, the more her disbelief of her crush on Beca grows, and she’s suddenly not sure why there should be any conflicting feelings concerning these two very different people.

“I think what you’re doing is incredibly brave,” he says simply. “I mean. I know you didn’t exactly have a choice, but still. You’re doing an amazing job considering all the odds that were stacked against you. The Bellas really rocked tonight.”

She can’t stop her skeptic scoff. “Right, well. We didn’t even get through one round because of me.”

“It was an honest mistake and a dumb rule,” he says, waving dismissively. “So what if you didn’t know that was a cover song? You guys still sounded great together.”

“We sounded better last year,” Emily mutters. She bites her lip as soon as she says it, annoyed more than anything at the slip-up. But she feels the truth of the words in her bones and can’t bring herself to take it back.

Benji’s quiet for a while, probably trying to put together the right sentiment without offending her or coming off as naive. He’d always been one to take his time with responses when it came to heavy conversations like this, and while Emily liked that he didn’t just spurt nonsense for the heck of it, she couldn’t help but feel some amount of dread at his hesitation.

“I don’t think hanging on to the past is good,” he finally says. “For anyone, to be honest.”

“Well. Sometimes it feels like it’s all I have.”

“Aw, come on. You know that’s not true.” He reaches into his pocket for his phone and starts scrolling to his photos. “There, see?” he says, enlarging a photo of the new Bellas that Emily had sent him a while ago. It was their first group picture from Hood Night, where the faces are barely distinguishable and the lighting was abysmal. They were all practically strangers back then; Emily didn’t even know everyone’s names at the beginning of the party.

Now she can recognize each girl despite the poor quality of the photo.

“When you sent this photo to me, you said you weren’t sure you could handle them. That they intimidated you and that you didn’t think they’d ever see you as captain.” Benji smiles with encouragement. “Now look at you. They’re worried about you and were practically begging you to come to the afterparty. That’s cool kid status if I ever saw one.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cool kid status’?”

“Yeah, I just made that up.”

“Nerd.”

“Anything to cheer up a beautiful girl.”

“Oh my _god_ , Benji.” Emily rolls her eyes, mouth stretching into a smile against her will.

“Ah there’s that perfect smile,” he teases.

“ _Benji_ ,” she hisses, giggling now. “You’re ridiculous.”

His smile fades a little. “Yeah, well,” he shrugs casually. There’s an unsaid comment behind that shrug, something that someone like Benji is too nice to say.

“Hey, um.” Emily starts. She’s not exactly in the right mood to be bringing this up, but she pushes on. “I’m really sorry about…you know. What happened with us.”

He frowns a little, confused. “You don’t have to be sorry about that.”  

“No, I…I know. But still. You’re an amazing guy, and I feel like I did this thing where I led you on and made you feel like we were gonna be, like, you know, a real couple and everything but then we were separated and I had so much on my plate with the Bellas and summer school and you weren’t even in the area anymore and I couldn’t really handle something like th —”

“Hey, um.” Looking incredibly apologetic about cutting her off, Benji half-heartedly raises his hands to try and halt her ramble. “It’s okay. Really, it is. Honestly, I kind of expected it when I moved up to Virginia.”

His tone is light but otherwise surprisingly unreadable. “I think…” She trails off, not sure if she should really say this thought out loud. But he’s looking at her patiently and so she takes a deep breath to get the words off her chest. “I think you’d make a great boyfriend, Benji. Just not…not for me.”

Benji nods slowly and laughs softly. “See? You’re braver than you think. Not everyone has the guts to come clean with a truth like that.”

“Yeah, I almost didn’t,” Emily admits.

“But you did. And that’s what matters in the end.” He stands and offers a hand to her. “Come on, you’ve moped enough. Let’s go get some drinks.”

* * *

The party is reaching its messy drunk stage by the time Emily and Benji squeeze through the gate to the Treble’s pool. Music is blaring from the poolside speakers and a different song blasts out from somewhere inside the house, creating a sort of auditory chaos ringing through Emily’s ears.

Tiff and Hallie are closest to the gate and give a happy scream of welcome as soon as they see Emily pushing through the crowd. “We’re five shots in!” is the first thing Hallie tells her when they’re close enough. “You better catch up!”

“Oh, uh…”

“I’ll go get us something,” Benji says, patting her on the shoulder and disappearing into the house.

Mel and April materialize next to Tiff and yank Emily deeper into the party, half-dancing and half-jumping to the music. They don’t stop pulling at her until they’re right in front of one of the huge speakers where a tightly-packed crowd had gathered to flail around dangerously in what can barely be considered a mosh-pit-like dance.

She’s entirely too sober for this.

“Come on!” Mel urges, motioning for Emily to join them.

“I, um. I’m gonna get a drink first,” she yells over the music, pointing to nowhere in particular and following her finger away from out of the swaying mass.

Inside isn’t any less chaotic. The bass from the speakers reverberates through the walls, rattling windows and making the plaques decorated along the hallways vibrate with every beat. There’s hardly anyone outside of the Barden a capella community here save for a few friends and significant others, and Emily recognizes practically everyone she passes. She finds Aliya in the kitchen talking to a few girls from the BU Harmonics while mixing together a drink. When she sees Emily wander in, she calls out to offer her a drink.

“No thanks,” she says, eyes scanning the crowd for Benji. “Someone’s grabbing me something already.”

Emily drifts back out of the kitchen, feeling oddly like an outsider. All of her Bellas are integrated seamlessly into this party, comfortably having fun regardless of their loss at the riff-offs only a couple hours ago. She feels like a petulant child, still hanging onto that sense of defeat even though it’s clear that no one’s taking it as seriously as she is.

 _I’m the captain, so it makes sense for me to feel so down, right? It’s not weird to feel responsible?_ She remembers how utterly depressed Chloe was after last year’s loss and tries to justify her own sour mood. But on the other hand, Emily doesn’t have the fate of the Bellas’ reinstatement on her hands like Chloe did.

_So why can’t I just…have fun for once?_

“Hey!” A hand claps down on her shoulder and suddenly she’s being steered back outside. “Benji’s looking for you,” Jesse screams over the music, pushing aside a few Trebles to squeeze them through the living room. “We’re all hanging by the pong table if you want to join us.”

It’s not so much a suggestion as it is a statement that he’s taking Emily there, because before she could even agree or disagree, she’s standing in front of Stacie, Chloe, Beca, and Benji, all laughing at a joke she hadn’t caught. It’s like she shot back to last year when the sight of these particular people were commonplace at a party like this, always sharing some inside joke or story that Emily never fully understood the context of.

“Oh! There you are.” Benji hands her a cup. “Sorry, I lost track of you so I thought I’d stay in one place rather than chase you around.”

“What were you guys laughing about?” Jesse asks, grabbing a chair and offering it to Emily.

“That,” Stacie says, nodding towards the pool. The tarp was up for the season, already collecting dead leaves and muddy rainwater. In the middle of one of the dirty puddles is a pristine ping-pong ball. Emily turns back to the game of beer pong going on behind them to see that they are, in fact, only playing with one ball.

“We were wondering if the tarp would hold if one of us went on to get the ball,” Benji explains.

“And we were saying that if we’d risk anyone, it’d definitely be Beca,” Chloe laughs. “Since she’s you know. The smallest.”

“Fuck you guys,” Beca says, shaking her head but smirking into her drink. She’s perched comfortably on the arm of Chloe’s chair, the pair not quite touching but close enough to make Emily’s stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Well these things are designed to withstand some weight, aren’t they?” she asks, trying to dispel the churning. “In case there’re pets or children running around?” Everyone but Beca bursts out in laughter again and Emily looks around in confusion before she realizes what she’d said. “O-oh, no. Wait, that’s not what I —”

“Legacy’s right,” Stacie gasps out, nudging Beca with her elbow. “It’s made to hold up a rambunctious kid, so you should be fine.”

“I hate all of you. So much.”

Feeling a little guilty about her unintentional insult, Emily takes a nervous sip of her drink while everyone regains their composure. It’s vodka and Sprite, not quite mixed or balanced enough to hide the unwelcome burn of alcohol down her throat. Her eyes meet Beca’s for the briefest second, and before she quickly looks away, she swears Beca gives her a small wink.

“Hey turn the music down a sec!” A shout cuts across the yard and everyone turns towards the voice, laughter and conversations dying down at the same time the music all but disappears. It’s Ricky, standing on top of a table and smacking a plastic spoon soundlessly against his solo cup.

“Oh, man. Here we go,” Jesse mutters.

“Drunk Ricky shenanigans,” Benji agrees.

“Thank you everyone for coming to the riff-off where the Trebles, once again, took the cake for the Best A Capella Group In All Of Barden University!” Cheers and boos echo around the yard at Ricky’s announcement, and he bats away the chips and empty cups thrown his way by the other groups. “Iight iight, for real though. Thank y’all for coming out and partying it up! Special shoutout to the alumni who came from far and wide to watch us _win_. This next song…” he takes out his phone, evidently already connected to the speakers “…goes out to my girl Emily. The Bellas kicked ass tonight and she picked a bumpin’ track to lose to!”

Then, to Emily’s immense embarrassment, the quiet guitar intro to “You Get What You Give,” the song that had cost them round one of the riff-off, starts playing over the speakers, both indoors and out. A collective cheer rings out from the crowd as the party resumes, and Emily barely holds back from dropping her face into her hands.

“I didn’t know,” she groans at the surrounding alumni’s sympathetic smiles.

The category was “ _Place_ that Artist” — a location name-based category that Jesse had inexplicably screamed at with excitement the moment it was announced — and after a solid back-and-forth riffing off songs by bands like Phoenix, Boston, and Kings of Leon, Emily had started on the New Radicals song with the surefire assertion that it was sung, written, and released by The Maine.

“For the record, the original’s much better than The Maine’s cover,” Jesse says, nodding along to the beat. He only stops when Beca shoves at his shoulder. “Hey, what? You know I’m right.”

“Don’t listen to him,” she tells Emily, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s get more drinks.”

Her cup is still decently full, but Emily isn’t really about to pass up a chance to duck out of the limelight Ricky had thrown her under. She squeezes through the crowd after Beca, draining the rest of her cup with difficulty, and finds herself back in the kitchen with Aliya.

“Back already?” she asks, eyeing Emily’s empty cup.

“Oh. Well, uh. You know how it is,” Emily chuckles, not sure what the heck that even means.

“You bartending here?” Beca asks Aliya while peering at the half-empty handles lined up on the sticky counter.

“Only if I get tips.”

Emily panics when Beca reaches for her wallet. “Oh my stars, she’s kidding.”

“Not really,” Aliya mutters. She raises her eyebrows when Beca hands her what looks like a punch card, corners bent and edges frayed. Emily recognizes the design; she has the same one for the student center cafe. “This…expires in a month.”

“Better load up on caffeine for finals then.”

A slow, somewhat uncertain smile creeps up on Aliya’s face. “All right, sweet. Two drinks, coming right up.”

“Oh, my —  you don’t _actually_ have to make us anything, Aliya.”

“Don’t act like this is any effort, cap,” she says, grabbing a handle of rum and a liter of Coke and dumping them simultaneously into a cup without any regard to portioning.

“You’re Aliya?” Beca asks, accepting the drink without so much as a grimace. She holds out her other hand for Aliya to shake. “You’re the new beatboxer.”

“Yup, that’s me. Uh, I don’t think we…”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Forgot that Legacy here didn’t really introduce us.”

Emily almost spits out her drink. “O-oh, gosh. I’m so sorry —”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Heat rushes to her cheeks at the teasing grin Beca shoots at her, and she prays that Aliya doesn’t catch it. “I’m Beca. Last year’s Bellas captain. And the two years before that.”

“Oh, holy shit.” Aliya shakes her head sharply at her outburst. “I mean. No, sorry, that came out wrong. But wow, it’s cool to finally meet you. I thought I recognized you from auditions.” She looks down at Beca’s cup and seems to realize what she’d given her. “Uh. Let me get you something…less trashy.”

“Uh. Oh, okay?” Beca gives Emily a confused look as Aliya bustles back towards the counter.

“The new Bellas sort of…admire you a lot,” Emily explains. “Well, at least your work. Like, your music and stuff.”   

“ _That_ much?” she asks skeptically, nodding towards the fridge where Aliya’s pulling out a hidden bottle of Jack from the freezer. “I mean, not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to be remembered if these are the perks.”

“Shots?” Aliya suggests, and Beca replies with a “hell yeah” at the same time Emily sighs out an “oh lord.”

They knock back a shot and chase it with the majority-rum-concoction Aliya had made, and the night gets a little blurry after that.

Emily’s acutely aware that being drunk around Beca is a pretty Bad Idea, especially considering how flustered she’d been getting at every ounce of attention Beca gives her, but it’s hard to make that judgement call after consuming three drinks in such a short amount of time. It also doesn’t help that people keep pressing drinks into her hands as soon as she finishes one.

“You deserve a break!” someone yells at her over the music at some point during the night, and Emily knows deep down that it’s true, she’s been slaving over schoolwork and the Bellas for months now and one night out won’t kill her.

 _Just let go. Have fun and let go. Stop worrying and let go. Let go, let go, let GO_ , she chants to herself over and over as she muddles her way through a game of flip cup and a fourth drink.

And then Ricky’s suddenly standing in front of her, starting mid-conversation and making Emily wonder if she’d blacked out for the first half of his sentence. “…and I’m sorry I called you out like that, it was all in good funsies, you know?” he says tiredly, swaying so far backwards that Emily instinctively snatches at the collar of his jacket to keep him upright. “Like, I didn’t mean it in a mean way, if that makes sense at all.”  

There’s no reason why that simple statement shouldn’t make sense, but for some reason, it sounds hilarious to Emily and she starts laughing. Following suit, Ricky starts laughing until they’re both inexplicably clutching at each other and gasping for breath over nothing.

Then she blinks and she’s dancing in front of the speakers, each bass note resonating through her soul like miniature earthquakes. Blurry faces surround her, and it takes considerable effort on her part to distinguish who they are. There’s Mel and Tiff behind her, April somewhere to her left, and surprisingly, Kelsey and Silvia mixed into the fray. She also spots Stacie’s ponytail and Chloe’s red hair over the sea of heads.

She almost trips backwards when she sees that the girl dancing in front of her is actually Beca.

 _Bad idea bad idea bad idea_ , a weak voice in her head warns, but a louder voice continues chanting _let go, let go, let go and have fun._

She decides to follow the second voice. It doesn’t take much effort to let the alcohol take over, shutting off her mind so her body can move freely with the music. Everyone’s singing along to the song and Emily doesn’t know what it is but she realizes she knows the words too, so she joins in at the top of her lungs. Beca’s beaming at her and she tries hard not to look at the smile for too long, as if she could fall any harder for this girl.

She shouts something at Emily but the music drowns it out. “What?” Emily yells back, leaning forward a little.

Big mistake.

“I said, glad to see you’re finally enjoying yourself.” Beca’s breath is hot on her ear, and her voice — despite being pitched to a shout — sends a violent shiver down Emily’s back. She pulls back quickly out of reach but considers the older girl’s observation, wondering if it was that obvious that she’d been forcing herself to have fun before.

And she’s startlingly aware, even through the drunkenness, that she feels _alive_ right now, that this momentary happiness is indestructible no matter what happens in the next few minutes.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says nonchalantly, though she knows Beca won’t hear. Then she finishes whatever’s in her cup and sinks into the music.

When she next drifts back into lucid consciousness, she’s lying on her back on the concrete on the lip of the covered pool, clutching onto a broken solo cup. There’s someone talking to her and she realizes it’s Beca, also lying down next to her like they’re stargazing.

“…so like, realistically they would have to submit additional paperwork and sign more contracts but we kind of let it slide because then the process would take forever and honestly, I don’t really give a shit about all that officiality, you know?” Beca’s rambling on. Emily has no idea what she’s talking about or where this story started, and she breathes out a laugh. She hears Beca turn towards her and can almost feel her confusion. “What? Did I say something funny?”

She doesn’t really want to admit that she hadn’t been retaining any of what Beca had just said, so she just pats the ground next to her and smiles. “It’s weird because my night started out like this. Lying down on the edge of a pool like some loser. And now it’s —” she checks her watch “— almost 3 in the morning and I’m in the same exact position.”

Beca gives a thoughtful hum. “But you’re less depressed.”

“True,” Emily agrees. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“It was fun.” Beca’s shoulder brushes against Emily’s when she shrugs. “Just like old times.”

It’s a simple statement, but its implications hit Emily like a cannonball to the gut. There’d been plenty of Trebles parties during the semester, but this party is the first time she’d actually joined in and gotten decently wasted. And with heavy dread, she realizes it’s only because she feels more comfortable with the old Bellas and Trebles around. Will she ever be able to let go of these people? To feel at home with her new Bellas and fellow Barden a capella members?

“Should’ve come earlier,” Beca mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“To the party. You missed a lot while you were off moping with Benji.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the house, where some stragglers and the Trebles are hanging out in the living room.

Emily watches them for a minute, idly wondering what they’re talking about. She catches Benji’s eyes and lazily returns his wave. He motions to the others for their attention and soon enough they’re all waving at her. She hopes she doesn’t look as idiotic as she feels, smiling dopily from the ground outside in the cold.

“I was here for enough,” Emily states simply. “Even though I already forgot a majority of what happened.”

“You jumped on the pong table, took off your shirt, danced the macarena, made out with Ricky, threw up in the hottub, then made out with Benji.”

“ _What?_ ”

Beca chokes out a laugh. “I’m kidding. You really think you’re capable of that?”

“I don’t know what drunk me’s capable of,” Emily shoots back indignantly, “so any of that could’ve actually happened.”

“Really? Drunk you would’ve made out with Ricky? With Benji?”

There’s something in Beca’s tone that makes Emily hold back her retort. Something that doesn’t resemble playful banter.

“Hey weirdos.” A shadow falls over them. “You guys gonna stay out here all night?” Stacie asks.

Shaking off the odd question from Beca and slapping the intense confusion it’d caused off of her expression, Emily tilts her head with exaggeration to face Stacie. “Yeah I should head back,” she groans, rolling over and crawling to her feet. “Practice is super early on Saturdays.”

Next to her, Beca teeters on her toes before stretching out her legs with agonizing slowness to stand. “I’m…very unable to drive.”

“Do you want me to call you an Uber?” Chloe asks, approaching them while pulling her cardigan tighter around her.

“God, no. That’s like, $20.”

“Well what’re you gonna do? Walk home?” Stacie sniffs. “Just ride with me and Chlo to the hotel we’re staying at. You can crash there.”

“Or you can come with me.” Fat Amy materializes out of nowhere, chugging a solo cup as if she’d been at this party the whole night. “I’m heading back to Bumper’s apartment in a bit. He’s got a couch that we’re not using.” She winks. “For now.”

“Oh my god,” Beca groans, clutching her stomach. “I would literally rather set myself on fire.”

Through a haze of tipsiness and momentary bravery, Emily pushes the next few words out. “Well you could…stay with me, if you want.” Everyone’s eyes snap to her and she tries not to shrink under their gaze. “It’s only a short walk to my dorm. And that way in the morning you can just walk back for your car, right?”

Beca points to Emily. “Logical. Practical. No potential for overhearing sounds I don’t want to ever overhear.”

“You _wish_ you could overhear my sounds,” Stacie says flirtily.

“I _meant_ Fat Amy, you sex monster.”

“Hey, why is Stacie the sex monster and not me? I’m the one actually doing the —”

“O _kay_ , let’s go Legacy.” Beca cuts off Amy and pushes Emily towards the gate. “See you never, losers.”

“Yeah, you get home safe too, nerd.”

There’s a knowing look and half a smirk on Chloe’s face as the pair wave goodbye to the others, and Emily doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s almost certain that she’d somehow picked up on Emily’s feelings for Beca, and though she’d been suppressing that daunting thought for the past few days, Emily can’t help but to wonder how obvious she’s being with her all-encompassing crush.

The 24-hour campus convenience store eminantes a lonely glow on their walk to Emily’s dorm, and Beca gravitates towards it like a moth to a porch light. Deaf to Emily’s insistence that she has snacks and drinks in her room, she wanders in and emerges a few minutes later with two gallon-sized jugs of water.

“Gotta drink a water for each alcohol you had,” Beca explains, pressing one of the jugs into Emily’s arms.

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re drunk or not,” Emily admits, watching the tiny girl rip open the seal on the cap. “One minute you’re fine and the next you do something like…” She trails off as Beca holds out her gallon as if waiting for Emily to toast with her. “…fine.”

Feeling absolutely ridiculous, she pops open the cap and bumps the jug against Beca’s. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Beca agrees, sounding immensely satisfied.

Once Emily starts drinking, she can’t stop. _Stars_ , she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and the need erupts within her as soon as water runs down her parched throat. Like scratching at an itch, she finds it almost impossible to put down the jug until she feels like she’s drowning.

Beca’s still chugging when Emily lowers the water. It’d felt like she drank a lot more, but less than a third of her jug is gone.

“Why did you buy us a gallon each? A normal bottle would’ve been fine.”

Resurfacing with an audible pop, Beca lets out a huge and contented sigh before answering. “You’re never gonna not need water.”

“I _told_ you I have water in my room.”

“Are you saying no to free water?”

As if proving some kind of point, Beca swings her uncapped jug towards Emily, splashing water in her direction. With a startled yelp, Emily dodges the stream and gapes at Beca with disbelief. “Wh…are you serious right now?”

Beca cackles and moves to swing again before Emily snatches the jug out of her hands.

“No. Nuh uh. You’ve lost water privileges.”

With a sudden, withering gaze and a hard-set frown, Beca opens her mouth to deliver what looks like a scathing remark. But instead, she freezes with her mouth half-open, swivels on her toes, and promptly throws up in the bushes behind her.

Almost dropping both jugs and tripping over her feet, Emily rushes forward to snatch up Beca’s hair away from her face. It’s over as soon as it started, and before Emily can even properly adjust her grip, the smaller girl straightens up, groaning but otherwise fine.

“Well. Fine, I guess you can have your water back if that’s how you’re gonna act,” Emily says sarcastically. Beca shoots her another glare, weaker than the previous one, before huffing out a breath of laughter. She accepts the jug back from Emily and takes a clumsy swig to swish out her mouth.

“Shit,” she curses softly after spitting it out. “Did not expect to end the night with that nonsense.”

“It happens.”

“Not to me. Not recently.”

“Oh yeah. ‘Cuz you’re all _old_ now.”

“Don’t use that condescending tone on your elders.”

Glad that throwing up barely had an effect on Beca, Emily continues their harmless bickering all the way back to her dorm. Maybe due to the amount of alcohol they’d consumed, they hadn’t felt the cold until they enter Emily’s room promptly melt in their jackets.

“Do you wanna borrow some…” Beca’s already stripping off her sweatshirt and crawling into Emily’s bed as if it’s her own. “…PJs?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she mumbles, already half asleep, tugging the blanket over herself. “I’ll just…sleep.”

Which is something Emily can’t argue with.

Jumping into the bathroom to quickly change into sweats — not that Beca’s conscious enough to see anything — Emily throws her clothes into the hamper and shuts off the lights before pausing at the edge of the bed.

 _Should I…sleep in the same bed? Would that be weird? I could just grab extra blankets and sleep on the floor. Would that be weirder? Does it only feel weird because I like her? This shouldn’t be weird, the Bellas were all so close I’m sure Beca’s used to that. But would it be weird if_ I _just got into_ —

“What’re you doing?” Beca moans, still facedown and lifeless. “Get the hell in the bed, Junk.”

“O-oh, are you sure? I can just sleep on the fl —”

“Geeeeet overrrrr herrrrreeee.”

“Okay, okay.”

She slides in under the covers, mindfully staying as close to the edge as she can. It’s ridiculous, honestly, the amount of precaution she has to take just so she doesn’t slip up or alert anyone in the vicinity to just how smitten she is. Listening to Beca’s breathing even out and deepen as she falls asleep, Emily stares up at the ceiling and tries to wrangle her mind to sleep.

This can’t be right, right? Crushing on a Treble is one thing but on a fellow Bella? Beca’s one of the closest friends she’d made at Barden, and maybe she’s mistaking admiration for romantic feelings? If anything, they’re sisters. That _has_ to be some kind of rule she can’t break, right? It’s not right for Bella sisters to have feelings for each other, right?

But that didn’t stop Beca and Chloe from —

 _No, no, no! This is_ not _the time to be thinking about that!_

“Hey.”

Emily’s eyes blink open in the darkness at the unexpected sound of Beca’s voice. Unsure of whether it was sleep-talking or a figment of Emily’s drunken imagination, she hesitates before answering with a quiet, “Yeah?”

There’s a long pause and she suspects Beca fell asleep again. “Thanks,” she whispers finally. “For like. Splitting your bed with me and stuff.”

“It’s a bed, Beca. Not a check.”

“Y’know what I mean.”

She shifts her head a millimeter to the side and peeks out of the corner of her eyes at Beca. She hasn’t moved from her position, her face angled away from Emily.

“Yeah. Anytime,” she whispers.

Beca doesn’t respond, and soon enough her deep breathing borders on the edge of snores. Turning back to stare up at the ceiling, Emily lets out a slow sigh and squeezes her eyes shut to sleep.  

* * *

Despite waking up completely hangover-less because of all the water she’d chugged, Emily still feels horribly sleep-deprived when her alarm blasts into her ear at 9 in the morning.

The first thing she sees is an empty bed. The second thing she sees is a post-it note on the pillow.

Thumping angrily at the snooze button on her screen, Emily opens her mouth in a dry, dehydrated yawn while reaching for the note.

 _“Sorry to dip, I have an early flight this morning. Didn’t want to wake you,”_ the note says. “ _Thanks for letting me stay over. I’ll text you later_.” Emily stares at the name signed at the bottom as if it would be anyone else but Beca’s.

A familiar bitter taste rises from her gut, and Emily almost wishes it was last night’s alcohol so she could routinely throw it up and expel it from her body. But it’s not a physical reaction; she’d had the same feeling that night during summer break when Beca had popped her big move to New York out of nowhere.

Leaving without a proper goodbye. Leaving after making Emily _so_ happy or _so_ flustered. Leaving. Always leaving.

And as soon as that bitterness comes, it’s gone in a flash, leaving her devoid of anger and filled with guilt. Beca doesn’t owe her anything. She’s a full-time adult with a job, rent, taxes, and limited time to goof off like a college kid. And it’s not like Emily’s anything but a friend, a younger Bella that she’s taken under her experienced, musically-gifted wing to make sure the group doesn’t fall apart.

Giving her head a sharp shake that births a brief but intense  migraine, Emily slaps at her face and jumps off the bed. “Come on, Emily. Focus.” She turns on her hype-up playlist, jumps in the shower, gets into workout clothes, and packs her bag for practice, all while nodding aggressively to the beat of her music and occasionally singing along passionately.

She tucks Beca’s note in her desk drawer before she rushes out of her room.

But her high energy deflates the second she walks into practice. The rest of the Bellas are slumped in their chairs, clearly hungover and exhausted from the party. At Emily’s sharp order and unmatched alertness, they drag themselves to their feet and shuffle into their positions.

“All right, ladies. We have a week and a half until Thanksgiving, then a week before finals after that, then winter break, and only ten days after that until regionals,” Emily says loudly, snapping her fingers in front of a dozing Kelsey. “We’re doing good on the choreo, maybe some fine-tuning and cardio needed for a few individual parts, but what we really need to work on is staying in the right key.”

The girls stare blankly back at her, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and Emily wonders if they’d even taken in a word she’d said. “So. Uh. Well, we’ll start with warm-ups and see how far we can get with the set, sound good?”

There’s one, maybe two grunts of affirmation as Emily pulls out the pitch pipe. They sludge through their scales, groan through some vocal drills, and stumble through some cardio before they return to formation, panting and rubbing their heads.

“Okay, uhhh. We’ll…take it easy today,” she says reluctantly but with as much sympathy as she can muster. “Let’s run through the set once with just vocals, once with just choreo, and one last time with both at half speed as usual.”

“ _That’s_ easy?” Hallie sniffs. “We’ve had easier practices for dumber reasons.”

A cold weight settles in Emily’s stomach at the same time heat rises to her cheeks in anger. “Well, _maybe_ if you were _listening_ ,” she starts, forcing passive-aggressiveness into her overly patient tone, “you would’ve gotten the memo that we don’t have time to be complaining about partying and being hungover.”  

“Hey, you were at the party too!”

“And do you see me moaning and groaning?” she fires back, all thoughts of optimism gone. “I get it. We’re tired. We partied all night, most of us didn’t get sleep, and the riff-off last night wasn’t the greatest score for us.”

Hallie mumbles something under her breath that Emily doesn’t catch, but the nervous looks on the other girls’ faces are enough of a clue. Desperate to keep her head above the water and not drown with anxiety in the middle of practice, Emily clears her throat pointedly and continues on.

“But this isn’t the time to complain, all right? We need to get our shit together, clean up this choreo, stay on key, and focus up if we want to stand a chance at regionals. Understood?” A deafening silence follows, and her gut twists painfully. “I _said_ , under _stood_?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Roger, cap.”

Simultaneously feeling like a gigantic jerk and a complete failure, Emily claps her hands and counts off for the vocal run-through. It’s not horrible, surprisingly stays in tempo, and the harmonies don’t sound half bad for such a miserable group. But the problem of going off-key still persists.

“What do you think is the issue?” Emily asks Tiff in private during a quick break after the choreo run-through. “Like, besides the fact that we’re all hungover. How is it that we go off-key from the song but manage to stay on-key with each other?”

“It happens a lot,” Tiff shrugs, “in most vocal-only pieces. Unless you have perfect pitch, it’s pretty hard to tell if you slowly go off a half step. It’s mostly up to the leads to keep that in check; everyone else just follows once they hear that they’re not properly harmonizing.”

“So is the best solution just to…keep practicing?”

“Or encouraging the lead parts to really drill that key into their vocal chords so it’s ingrained in their brains.”

“Ah…” Emily’s gaze drifts towards Hallie, who has the lead right after their mid-song key change — the part that always starts going off-key. She’s been surly all practice after their little spat, and Emily hadn’t had the courage to look in her direction since. “Right.”

“Choreo’s not bad though,” Tiff comments, smiling with encouragement. “That run-through was impressive considering everyone sounded like they were dying of asthma.”

Which is a generous statement. It’s been well over a month of practicing this one song every day of the week, and Emily knows for a fact that it took the old Bellas less time than that to arrange and learn this piece for the competition. Is it her teaching style? Or is it her lack of control when it comes to the girls?

“Yeah, well.” Emily hops to her feet. “We’ll see how it goes combining the two.”

It goes awfully.

Already out of breath by the eighth bar, their singing deteriorates to sing-song humming in no time, steps faltering if they get the lyrics right and voices wavering if they get the choreo right. The usual vocal powerhouses, Hallie, Mel, and April, are barely audible through their breathless gasps.

“All right, all right!” Emily cuts them off before they even make it to ‘Flashlight,’ sense of guilt growing as her team all but collapses back into their chairs. “This is clearly not going to be a productive practice, so all of you go home, get some rest, and bring your A game tomorrow.”

Without a second of hesitation, Hallie grabs her jacket and bag and rushes out of the room in a furious storm. The other girls stare after her, clearly at a loss of what to do.

 _Go after her. Go after her and talk it out. She’s upset, so you have to sort it out. You’re the captain, come_ on _!_

Emily starts to take a half-hearted step towards the door when Tiff holds out a hand. “Wait. Maybe it’s better if I go.” There’s not enough willpower left in her to disagree, so Tiff grabs her stuff and races after Hallie.

After a timid hesitation, the other begin to pack up their stuff and trudge out of the practice room. Only Mel offers a quiet, “see you tomorrow,” before Emily’s left alone in the room.

Finally giving in to the cold, unforgiving weight in her stomach, Emily sits down hard on the bleachers, not even caring that the entire section rattles at the force. Letting out a heavy sigh mixed with a pathetic whimper, she rubs at her temples and stares out the windows until the sun rises well above the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Barricade - MY RED + BLUE  
> chapter song: As Good As It Gets - MY RED + BLUE
> 
> I probably should close prompts bc I have sO many I have to eventually get to, but if you want to yell at me come to http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	6. shining like the stars hanging so high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A holiday party with Beca's family? Beca in a cute dress? Surrounded by children???? I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if I had half a penny for the number of times I thought “should I cut parts of this so this chapter isn’t so damn long?” I’d be a damn millionaire but in the end this is still almost 10k words I’m so sorry
> 
> also this is your fanfic equivalent of a filler episode because it's purely fabricated shenanigans that offers NOTHING to the overall plot BUT I wanted a holiday chapter so y'all gotta suffer

In the blink of an eye, finals are over and winter break is rolling in and Emily has no idea how to feel. Part of her is undeniably relieved; a month-long break from the relentless tirade of schoolwork and rehearsals would do wonders for her sleep schedule and stress levels. But the other part of her is already panicking in anticipation of the spring semester and the landslide of stress _those_ five months are inevitably going to bring.

Once dorms close for break, Emily packs up her suitcase and drags it over to the empty Bella house, determined to stay at Barden instead of going home to her hectic family so she can concentrate on preparing for regionals and maybe the semi-finals and maybe _maybe_ the actual finals. And it’s already draining her — the thought of preparing sets for a performance that might not even happen due to her inadequacy as a leader — to the point that she just wants to crawl home and into her bed for a month-long nap.

But she knows she can’t. And she knows she has to resist the temptation to give up.

With reluctance she pulls out her phone and wonders how her mom, who was already complaining that she doesn’t hear from or see Emily enough, would take the news of her only returning home for the week of Christmas and New Year’s.

“Hello?”

“Hi, mom.”

“Who’s this?”

Emily closes her eyes in exasperation. “Can you _please_ check your caller ID for once before you pick up? Who else would be calling you ‘mom’?”

“I don’t know baby, it could be a long-lost step-sister of yours, maybe. Possibilities are endless.”

“Wow, I _don’t_ like what you’re implying.”

Her mom chuckles on the other line. “Well you know, that waiter in Copenhagen —”

“Oh my _god_ I’m hanging up!”

“I’m kidding, honey. What’s up?”

And okay, maybe Emily shouldn’t have waited until the very last minute to break the news to her mom, but for some reason, calling her while she lugged her second suitcase and backpack across campus into the Bella house seemed like the best idea of the time. Shouldering her way into the house, Emily more or less kicks her suitcase in and struggles to yank the key out of the lock, her phone threatening to slip from its precarious position between her shoulder and her cheek as she does.

“So…don’t be mad,” she starts, which she knows never bodes well for her mother. “But I was thinking of staying here for another two weeks until Christmas before coming back home. And…and coming right back here after New Year’s.”

There’s silence on the other end and Emily races to explain.

“It’s just, like, I know I won’t be able to concentrate on Bella’s stuff at home with you and dad singing Christmas carols non-stop and with all the extended family shenanigans that’s gonna be happening and I…just want to focus. Is that, um. Would that be okay?”

Her mom gives a long, thoughtful hum. “I thought dorms close over winter break?”

“Yeah, they do. I’m staying at the Bella house.”

“ _Alone?_ ”

“I’ve done it before!”

“Hon, it’s different than in the summer. There’re still at least a few kids around taking summer classes then, right?”

“There’re like, a few winter classes. I think,” Emily guesses wildly. “I’ll be fine, I’ll hardly leave the house anyway.”

“ _That’s_ what I’m worried about, Em. No one’s gonna hear you scream if some killer decides to break into the house.

She finally manages to pull the key out of the lock and kicks the door closed. “Nice try with the scare tactic, but this house has triple security after they got all that hate mail last year. It’s a fortress, mom.”

“Okay, but…” her mom sighs, a weighted breath that Emily recognizes as the precursor to a statement of heavy concern. “You should really consider staying home with us a little while longer, hun. You need a break from all that Bella stuff. There’s gotta be _someone_ on the team who can help you out a little.”

“Well, uh…”

“Family time’s important too.”

“I…I know,” Emily agrees, sagging a little, “and I’m sorry, but it’s the best way I can prepare for competitions and not have a mental breakdown after break.” Her phone suddenly buzzes against her ear and Emily almost flinches away enough to drop it. “Wait, hang on, sorry, I’m getting another call. Can I call you back?”

“Oh? Who is it?”

Emily juggles her suitcase and bags and coat out of her grip to retrieve the phone from the cheek-shoulder sandwich, almost dropping it again in the process.

It’s Beca.

“U-uh…I’ll call you right back, mom.”

“Who is it?” She gasps with exaggerated delight. “Is it _Beca?_ ”

“Good _bye_ , mother.”

Heart thumping erratically, Emily hangs up on her mom and stares at the incoming call. Beca’s never called her before; their conversations were exclusively over text or in person. She clears her throat and answers.

“Hello?”

“‘Sup Legacy?”

“H-hi,” Emily stutters, hating that she’d just given two greetings.

“I hope this isn’t too last-minute, but,” Beca starts, briefly disappearing behind the blaring sound of a car horn. “Shit, sorry, I’m outside on lunch break and these assholes are _so_ impatient.”

“Oh, uh. It’s okay.” Emily doesn’t understand why she’s so nervous. It’s just Beca. They talk almost every day. It’s not a big deal that she decided to call instead of text today. Right? “Wh-uh. What’s up?”

“Are you gonna be around Barden for New Year’s Eve by any chance?” Beca asks, sounding a little breathless from walking. Or maybe she’s running.  “Like, I assume you’re going home for Christmas but if you don’t have any plans for New Year’s…” There’s another car horn and Beca hisses out another curse.

“…Yeah?”  

“God, sorry. People are being so shitty today. Should’ve just texted you, huh?”

“N-no, this…a call is fine.”  

“There’s a holiday party at my dad’s house that day,” Beca pants out, “New Year’s Eve, I mean. There’s gonna be like, a shitton of people there but if you’re cool with that, you should totally drop by. It’s — ow, fuck, sorry man — it’s gonna be a lot of family and Dad’s professor friends so it’d be nice to have a familiar face there.” The grating noise of traffic abruptly disappears on her end and Emily assumes Beca ducked indoors. “I sent out a blast on the Bella groupchat and it turns out everyone else already has plans. You’re the only one who didn’t reply.”

“O-oh, sorry. I had it muted.”

“Totally valid.”

“But yeah, I should be…” Emily hesitates, thinking back to her mom and how she’d wanted Emily to spend more time with family. But at the same time, she’d urged Emily to take a break from Bellas work, so… “Good. Yeah. I should be good. To go.”

“Sweet. I’ll send you deets later, I just wanted a headcount on guests.” Beca pauses, her tone shifting a little. “How’re you doing? Are finals over yet?”

“I’m…good, I guess? I’m actually, uh. In the Bella house right now.” She looks around the chilly foyer and towards her sad pile of belongings thrown carelessly by the stairs. “Thought I’d camp out here during break to plan out the next semester of competitions.”    

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be down there starting the 24th, so I can lend a hand if you need. Except, well.” Beca laughs lightly and Emily’s stomach flips. “Guess you’ll be home by then. But I’m there until the 4th so we can still hang after New Year’s.”

“That’d be great, yeah.”

“All right, awesome. Sorry dude, I gotta run. I’ll text you later with party details, is that cool?”

“Yeah. That’s cool.”

“Bye, Em.”

Emily suddenly doesn’t want Beca to hang up, to end their conversation. There’s something about hearing Beca’s voice over the phone that makes her feel warm inside, like she’s been singled out to be graced with Beca’s attention. She knows that’s obviously not the case, that Beca probably just called because texting and walking the streets of New York would be dangerous at best, but she still doesn’t want to let the moment go.

“Bye, Beca,” she says at last.

She stands there for a solid minute or two after they hang up, unmoving and unblinking, staring off into the middle distance. Her heart is still pounding for some stupid reason.

There’s no reason why she should be so flustered over a casual party invite. It’d been extended to all of the old Bellas, not just her; Emily was the only one oblivious enough to miss it. Beca said it was with family and her dad’s colleagues, so it can’t possibly be like the Treble’s afterparty where Emily had been on edge with drunken potential almost the entire night.

But then again, it’s a New Year’s Eve party, so there’s a possibility for…

“No. No, no, no, no, absolutely no,” she tells herself firmly. “If that’s what you’re gonna be thinking about, then you might as well not go.”

Which she knows is like, totally unfair to herself. Running a hand through her hair, Emily raises her phone again to call her mom back.  

“Mom? Hi, it’s me again. It’s _Emily_ , oh my stars, are you serious? So, um. About New Year’s Eve…”

* * *

Then the two weeks before Christmas also fly by and Emily’s productivity stays at a solid zero.

Well, that’s not entirely true, she gets a lot done; just not the things she should be concentrating on. While the Bella’s potential set for semi-finals remains untouched, the Bella _house_ goes through an early spring cleaning. Frustrated by her procrastination but not motivated enough to actually sit down and work, Emily goes through the house room by room, dusting shelves, wiping desks, wiping windows, and organizing the entire inventory of the kitchen cabinets.

When she gets home on Christmas Eve, she can’t bring herself to tell her mom just how much nothing she’d achieved, instead quietly promising herself that she’ll try harder when she gets back to Barden in a few days.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Emily asks after Christmas dinner while she and her mom wash the dishes. She takes the dripping salad bowl from the drying rack and starts wiping it down with the damp dishtowel, trying to formulate her question. “How did you…do it?”

“Do what?” her mom asks airily, scrubbing ferociously at a crusty pan.

“Lead the Bellas. You know, like, without royally screwing up all the time.”

“Oh, honey. It’s sweet that you think I didn’t royally screw up.”

Emily carefully puts the bowl away, frowning. “You…did? But all of your Bella sisters always tell me how great of a captain you were. That you were _way_ better than that Lizzy woman from your freshman year.”

Her mom makes a disgruntled sound and scrubs harder. “God, I hated that awful bitch. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Emily. I’m sure you’ve heard the horror stories about her too. I’m just glad she didn’t come to the Europe performance.” She gives up on the pan and lets it soak more while she grabs a dish. “There’s no such thing as a perfect leader. Trust me, you’re gonna screw up a _lot_ before you get the hang of it.”

“That’s not…comforting.”

“It is what it is,” she shrugs. “Especially a skill-based group like a capella? There’s _always_ going to be room for improvement.”

Grimacing at the truth in her words, Emily wipes glumly at the silverware before tossing them into the drawer, still half-wet. “I just want to keep everyone together,” she mutters, “but it already feels like the group is falling apart because I don’t know what I’m doing. It never felt this way with the old Bellas.”

“Hmm, but have you considered this?” her mom asks, handing her a wine glass. “The old Bellas probably had the same issues when they were just getting to know each other, too. It takes a lot of time for a group to really bond and learn to trust each other; and you’ve known these girls for, what, two months?”

“I mean. Yeah,” Emily concedes. “I just…want to skip to the part where we’re all friends and can see the Bellas as a family and not just as a singing group.”

Her mom gives her an amused smile. “Ain’t no shortcuts like that in life, sweetie. Took me _years_ to wrestle some of those girls into submission, sometimes physically, and I got the scars to prove it.”

Emily sincerely hopes she won’t have to fight _her_ Bellas, but she accepts her mom’s wisdom and experience. It’s not like she expected to hear that one day it’ll all get easier at the snap of a finger, but facing an undetermined length of rough road ahead is more daunting than she’d like to admit.

“Anyway, I was serious when I said you should take a break from all this stuff,” her mom says. “At least for this holiday week. You have that party at Beca’s coming up, don’t you?”

“Mom…” Emily warns, sensing the teasing tone. But she knows she has to let her mom have this, to let her make any assumptions that she might have concerning Emily’s dumb crush. She’d been more than ecstatic when Emily had asked over the phone whether or not she can go back to Barden for Beca’s New Year’s Eve party, and Emily really doesn’t know where this newfound acceptance for skipping quality family time came from.

She’s almost positive that her mom wouldn’t be so supportive if it were anyone but Beca.

“I’m just sayin’, hun. You need a little more fun in your life.”

“I guess,” she mumbles.

“Too bad it’s not a Christmas party, huh? No mistletoes you could catch her und —”

“Mom.”

“Oh! But it _is_ a New Year’s party! You have your chance at midn —”

“ _Mom!_ ”

“ _What_ , Emily?”

She’s way too embarrassed to admit that she’d been thinking the exact same thing. Instead, she lightly smacks her mom’s arm with the dish towel, earning a splash from the sink in return.

When she arrives back at the Bella house on the morning of New Year’s Eve, Emily’s head is racing with two completely unrelated thoughts: one on how to bond with her Bellas and the other on how to behave around Beca at the party. She fights to mesh those two concepts together, trying to squeeze away the individual issues they present.  

Maybe she’ll ask Beca how the old Bellas first came together as a family; Emily’s heard stories about their old, outdated sets that Aubrey had insisted they keep to uphold traditions and whatnot. She’d also heard stories about how they were basically forced to bond over a lake of vomit, and she prays it won’t come to that. Beca had told that story with retrospective humor, but there was some undeniable trauma behind her eyes that spoke volumes.

Beca.

 _No, no, no, think about the Bellas, not her_.

But thinking about the Bellas makes her head ache. Thinking about Beca makes her heart ache.

There’s no winning.

Letting out a deep breath of anticipation, Emily stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to iron out her nervous expression. “It’s a family party,” she tells her reflection. “Don’t get any ideas just because it’s New Year’s Eve.”

Which is actually impossible, she can’t stop herself from vividly daydreaming of the clock striking midnight and everyone at the party cheering and Beca smiling at her and pulling her in —

“Oh my _god_ ,” she whispers, bowing her head over the sink so she can’t see her flushed cheeks. “Get _real_ , Emily. She would never, ever, _ever_ do something like that and you know it.”

She _does_ know it, but for some reason she can’t shake that tiny glimmer of hope.

* * *

When she finally shows up on Dr. Mitchell’s doorstep with a bottle of wine, shivering as the cold wind hits her bare legs, Emily’s practically vibrating with all sorts of excitement. Unrealistic midnight potentials aside, she’s at a party! An adult party! She’d actually never been to a social gathering with professors or seen them outside of a campus setting, and Emily wonders if she’d recognize any of them. Beca had mentioned that she still has trouble telling the professors and family members apart because they can all be pretentious at times.

“We can just snatch up some food and drinks and hide up in my room,” she’d suggested, and Emily wasn’t about to say no to something like that.

The doorknob jiggles and Emily looks up with a friendly smile, expecting a deep philosopher-type man with a monocle and a three-piece-suit, stroking a long, white beard.

Or maybe just like, Beca or her dad.

But the person who answers the door is the complete opposite of an adult. A little boy peeks around the door like he’s hiding from Emily, his striking blue eyes curious but nervous. His plump cheeks immediately turn pink against the cold air. “Hi,” he says, holding the door open just wide enough to show his face.

“Oh, hello,” Emily says brightly, bending down a little. “I’m…uh, here for the party?”

She’s starting to wonder if he’s about to ask for a password when there’s a short cry from inside the house and a little girl about the same age sprints up to the door, shoving it wide open. “I _told_ you _I_ was gonna get the door next!” she yells, slapping at the boy’s arm. “That’s not _fair,_ you’re _cheating!_ ”

“No I’m not! You weren’t paying attention!” he shoots back, batting away her hands. She takes that as a sign of aggression and hits even harder, escalating it into a full-blown child-level tussle.

Technically she was never invited inside and Emily has no idea who these children are, but she squeezes herself in between their tiny fistfight anyway. “Oh, okay, um. I don’t know what’s going on but let’s _not_ hit each other, please.” A wayward punch from the girl accidentally grazes Emily’s thigh. “Ow! Or _me_.”

“What’s going on here?” a voice thunders, and everyone jumps apart, even Emily. Dr. Mitchell stands in the foyer, arms crossed and scowling. “Is this how you two have been greeting our guests?”

The kids look down at their shoes. “No…” they mutter in unison.  

“Then knock it _off_ and let this nice woman inside from the cold.” He doesn’t drop the scowl until the kids step aside to let Emily in. “Hi, Emily. Long time no see,” he greets, giving her a quick hug and a weary smile. “Sorry about that, I told them they could answer the door if they _promise not to fight over it_ ,” he ends sternly, looking pointedly down at the kids. They shrivel under his gaze.

“Oh, no, it’s no problem at all,” she laughs, bending down to their eye level. “ _I_ think you guys are doing great. Just, maybe, no more fighting, ‘kay?” They nod solemnly and smile a little at Emily’s discreet wink. “I, um. Have this for you,” Emily says, straightening up and handing him the bottle of wine. “Well, I didn’t buy it, that’s still illegal. But there were a bunch of unopened bottles rolling around in the Bella’s kitchen, so. I just kind of, you know. Stole…one…?”  

He chuckles, raising an amused eyebrow. “Thanks for bringing it over, we need every bottle we can get; my boss is here and _boy_ can he drink.” He notices Emily looking around the partygoers and scanning faces. “Beca’s still upstairs getting ready. She overslept.”

Emily frowns. “It’s 8pm.”

“Oh, I know,” Dr. Mitchell says, rolling his eyes. “Typical, right? Here, I’ll take your coat. Beautiful dress, by the way. Feel free to eat and drink anything and make yourself at home, you know where everything is.”

“Thanks.”

Feeling self-conscious just standing around in the foyer, Emily wanders into the packed living room, suddenly apprehensive about actually recognizing professors. Thankful that she’d visited this house often enough over the summer to know where every room is, she makes her way through the crowd of sophisticated-looking adults into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact but trying to be polite about it.

The kitchen island is lined to the edges with various containers, aluminum food trays, and dessert platters. The counter next to the sink had been cleared of all kitchenware to make room for bottles upon bottles of various drinks. There’s enough here to feed an army, but considering the amount of people milling around, Emily suspects that this will all be gone by the end of the night.

She’s hovering over the food — wondering if she should just dig in and start eating before meeting up with Beca — when she feels a light tap on her elbow. She looks down to see the kids from before.

“Um,” the boy starts shyly. “We’re sorry for fighting in front of you,” he says, and Emily holds back a smile at his tiny lisp.

“And I’m sorry for hitting you,” the girl adds. “Mom said we should bring you something to show that we’re sorry, so. Here you go.” She hands Emily a glass of lemonade, almost full to the brim.

“Oh, wow. Thanks, guys.” Realizing how much more comfortable she is talking to these kids than with any adult at this party, Emily smiles down at them. “I’m Emily, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Jamie,” says the girl.

“Nick,” says the boy. “Are you a professor too?”

“No, do I look like one?” Emily asks, genuinely curious. Nick shrugs. “I’m a friend of Beca’s.”

“Aunt Beca?”

Emily blinks. Hearing such an unexpected title before Beca’s name is jarring to say the least. “Uh…yeah. Aunt…Aunt Beca, yeah.” It feels incredibly weird to say it out loud. “Have you seen her around yet?”

“No, but you should come play with us!” Jamie says, flapping the hem of her dress like wings. “We’re watching Michael and Caleb play _Halo_.”

“And we’re way cooler than Aunt Beca,” Nick adds, and Emily chokes out a laugh into her lemonade. “She thinks she’s cooler than all of us, but joke’s on her.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But don’t tell her I said that or she’ll shoot me with the marshmallow gun.”

“Be — Aunt Beca has a _marshmallow_ gun?” Emily asks, loving every second of this conversation. She lets them lead her out of the kitchen and back through the living room and foyer, briefly debating whether or not she should ask them if they’re still on door duty.

They weave their way into the den, a small room towards the back of the house where Emily had watched movies and marathoned TV shows with Beca over the summer. Now it’s full of kids of all ages, lively noise of violent video games and encouraging cheers filling the cozy space. Most of them are around Jamie and Nick’s age but some of them are teenagers; all of them are dressed up in their Sunday best for the party and are clearly unhappy about it. Several of the boys have the top buttons of their shirts undone, the girls are tugging at the collars of their dresses, and stiff-looking shoes lay tossed aside on the floor in front of the TV.

“Wanna play?” One of the kids, older than Jamie and Nick but certainly still a preteen, offers Emily a controller.

“Oh, no, it’s cool. I’ll watch.”

And this isn’t exactly what she’d thought she’d be doing at this party, but Emily’s more than happy to be in a room where she feels like she’s not just floating outside of an adult conversation. She perches on the arm of one of the couches, sipping at her lemonade and listening to the cheerful chaos of kids gunning down virtual opponents, feeling oddly reminiscent about the old Bellas screaming at each other over Mario Party.

They’re about to wrap up their second round when Emily feels a hand touch her shoulder.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t even have to turn to know who it is, because one of the kids is suddenly screaming, “Beca!” and anyone who’s not engrossed in the game is shouting for Beca’s attention. “You’re finally alive,” one of the older kids comments snidely, while another quips in a sarcastic, “wow, you’re awake _so_ early!”

Amused by the youngsters celebrating and roasting Beca, Emily starts to make her own joke about how she’d been held hostage by the kids only to be saved by another one.

But all she makes out is, “It’s ab —” before she freezes over and stops breathing, taken aback by Beca’s appearance.

She’d straightened her hair and pinned half of it back, letting the rest fall gently over her shoulders. Only a soft touch of makeup highlights her features, most notably a subtle shimmery gloss that brings out the pink of her lips. A dark red fit and flare crepe dress flutters just above her knees and over a pair of low, pale gold heels, and as Emily watches, open-mouthed and transfixed, she finishes putting on tiny gold earrings shaped like snowflakes.

She looks pretty and adorable and gorgeous and beautiful all at once, and Emily’s heart should be soaring at the heavenly sight but instead it feels like it’s being suffocated under all the things she can’t say — like how Beca’s the most perfect human being Emily’s ever laid eyes on and that she could stare at her all day — and all the things she can’t do — like reach out to pull Beca in for an innocent kiss to her cheek or her forehead to show her just how speechless she’d rendered her.

“A…about time,” Emily finishes lamely, shoving those wild imaginations aside and trying _so_ hard not to stare. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire. Before she can stop it, she’s breathing out a quiet “wow,” and she races to follow up with an explanatory compliment. “Y-you look pretty.”

Beca smiles, eyes twinkling, and Emily wants to die. “You do too.” She locks onto the glass of lemonade in Emily’s hands. “You know you can drink like, alcohol here. No one’s gonna stop you.”

“Oh, right. I just, well, got this from —”

“That’s _our_ lemonade! For Emily!” Nick shouts from the couch, jumping to his feet and pointing his little finger at Beca. “You’re not cool enough to drink it!”

“You don’t have to be _cool_ to drink lemonade, pipsqueak,” Beca fires back.

“Yeah, you would know! Pipsqueak!”

Instead of a verbal retort, Beca whips out a toy gun out of nowhere and points it at Nick, who immediately yelps and ducks down behind the back of the couch. It takes less than that three-second interaction for Emily to see that Beca’s not the best at handling kids, which doesn’t surprise her in the slightest but is still an amusing observation nonetheless.

“Okay, how about we, uh,” Emily starts, putting a hand over the marshmallow gun to lower it from view, “go and get some food?”

“Wait, did you not eat? Were you waiting for me?” Beca hisses out a curse, not loud enough for the kids to hear but definitely close, and shrinks a little under Emily’s warning glare. “Okay, sorry. Yeah, let’s go, you must be starving.”

They’re halfway out the door when Nick pops back up from his hiding position. “What? You’re _leaving?_ ” he exclaims, as if he and Emily had formed a lifelong friendship in the past thirty minutes she’d been perched on the opposite end of the couch and now she’s just walking out on him without so much as a goodbye.

“I can come right back if you want me to,” she suggests as he marches over. “I’m just gonna grab dinner. Do you want me to bring you back dessert?” He nods. “Any preference?” He shakes his head. “Then I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay. Um.” He motions for Emily to come closer and she leans down so he can whisper in her ear. “Be careful with that one. She can be real mean.”

“I can _hear_ you,” Beca says, crossing her arms. Nick narrows his eyes — an admittedly non-threatening expression from such a cute child — and mimics her crossed arms before sticking out his tongue. Faster than lightning, Beca raises the gun and fires a marshmallow straight into Nick’s chest before he can duck out of the way. It bounces harmlessly and soundlessly off his shirt but he screams anyway, clutching at his chest dramatically.

“I’m hit!” he announces, falling to his knees and pretending to die. Only a few kids turn away from the TV to spare him a glance; one of them just picks up the marshmallow from the floor and pops it into his mouth.

“Monsters,” Beca mutters, pulling at Emily’s elbow to guide her out of the room. “Seriously though, sorry to keep you waiting. I pulled an all-nighter to work on this —” she turns around to check that they’re out of earshot “ — shitty demo my boss sent over for me to clean up. Absolute garbage. I went to bed at like noon and just woke up like, an hour ago.”

“Oh no, it’s okay, I wasn’t that hungry,” she shrugs. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Emily’s heart shoots up into her throat. She hadn’t meant to say that. Sure, she _thought_ it, but her brain wasn’t supposed to send those words to her mouth.

Beca thankfully doesn’t read into it. “Yeah, sorry to leave you alone for so long. I know this isn’t an easy crowd of people to socialize with.”

“It’s not so bad,” she shrugs, unwilling to reveal that she’s been hiding in the den this whole time. “I just feel like I need a master’s degree before I can hold up a conversation with anyone here.”

“Word.” She slaps a plate into Emily’s hands and starts piling mac ‘n cheese onto her own. “I mean, this doesn’t apply to me because everyone knows my dad, but it pays to look young so you can pass as a kid and they know not to waste their time trying to talk to you about honors theses and grading curves and shit.”

“Is that why you’re carrying around a toy gun and wearing snowflake earrings?”

“Oh, yeah.” Beca chuckles and brings a self-conscious hand to her ear. “Lame, I know, but they were a Christmas gift from my dad, so. Had to wear them at least once in front of him.”

“They’re cute,” Emily says without thinking again. “I mean. Um. They fit the theme, at least.”

“If they fit the theme, they’d be champagne bottles.”

As if summoned by their conversation topic, Dr. Mitchell materializes in front of them, looking a lot more disheveled than he did the last time Emily saw him. “Beca. Finally.” He pauses when he sees the toy gun in her hand. “What is _that?_ ”

“A repellent.”

He opens and closes his mouth. “I…okay, sure. Listen, can you go grab the whiskey from the basement? Jimmy’s insisting we share a glass with Dad like old times. We’re running low on everything else, too.”

Beca rolls her eyes and slams a scoop of mashed potatoes onto her plate. “Well, tell Uncle Jimmy that grandpa can’t mix whiskey with his meds or he’ll literally die in our living room.”

“Beca,” Dr. Mitchell says, unamused. “Please?”

With a deep sigh, Beca hands her plate to Emily. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Start eating without me.”

“I can help —”

“No!” Both Beca and her dad whirl simultaneously. “Thanks for the offer, Emily, but —”

“But you’re a guest,” Beca interjects. “Eat. Hang tight. Chill with the kids if you’re more comfortable with them. I promise I’ll be right back.” And then she’s gone, disappearing out of the kitchen as quickly as she’d appeared by Emily’s side. So Emily finishes piling up their plates, grabs a few cookies and brownies, and shuffles back into the den with her arms full of food.  

“Oh good, you’re alive,” Nick greets as she hands him dessert. “I thought she got to you too.”

Emily smiles at him, thinking about how he’s right, that Beca _did_ get to her — just not in the way he’s referring to — and that she might as well be keeled over on the ground like him from the pain of bottling in these unrequited feelings. But Nick is like, seven and she’s not about to unburden something like that onto a child, so she ruffles his hair and joins a heated game of Uno that had accumulated more attention than the video gamers.

True to her word, Beca is back in a flash, squatting down next to Emily and shoveling mashed potatoes into her mouth at lightning speed. “Good news and bad news,” she forces out through her mouthful. “Good news, this mashed potato is _bomb_ , bad news, I gotta grab something from the attic now.”

“More alcohol?”

“Sleeping bags,” Beca grunts, inhaling the rest of her plate and barely chewing before swallowing. “Apparently there’re a few relatives staying over so I have to set up the guest room. I’ll be right back, okay?” Before Emily can say another word, she’s gone again.  

And it’s fine, Emily understands the hassle of being the host — she literally just came from a Christmas family party of her own — so she can’t really complain that Beca’s too busy to stick around for long. And it’s admittedly pretty fun, playing along with these bored but undeniably entertaining kids and learning everything from their names to their philosophies on the health benefits of milk in their cereal.

But this isn’t the New Year’s party Emily had imagined, and as unrealistic as those midnight expectations might be, spending time with Beca wasn’t supposed to be the far-fetched fantasy for tonight. Maybe it’s selfish of her to want some alone time with a girl she’s crushing on, especially at a party where far more important people are in attendance, but it’s hard to let go of that image of her and Beca holed up in a quiet bedroom and catching up over a glass of wine or two.

“Uno!” Jamie yells, pulling Emily out of her reverie.

 _Just go with it_. _Have fun_. _Make do_.

So she slaps a Draw 4 on Caleb and collects a round of cheers from the younger kids. And soon enough, Emily’s so invested in beating everyone that she forgets about her idealized version of how the night was supposed to go.

And Beca still pops her head in from time to time between the countless errands her parents are sending her on, even if it’s just to explain the mission she’s on and the tools she needs to accomplish it. Like when she pauses in the doorway with a duffle bag full of champagne bottles with a casual explanation of, “Dad wanted me to get these from the garage to bring to the fridge. There’re like, ten of them so. Bag.”

Or when she passes by with an armload of dirty dish towels: “There was a huge spill in the kitchen and my dad hasn’t bought a roll of paper towels since 2005 so. Towels.”

Or when she stops by with a stepladder: “Had to pull out some extra champagne glasses for Sheila because apparently _I’m_ the one to call when someone can’t reach the top shelf? God, this family is exhausting sometimes.”

When she finally comes back into the den, it’s only to dig through a toolbox stashed in the closet. “Someone fu — uh, messed up the sink drain in the kitchen, _god_ knows how. I swear, these people are worse than the Bellas sometimes.”

“Who knew you were such a handyman?” Emily teases lightly from the couch where she has Kelly, the youngest and the fussiest, bouncing on her lap while they watch the younger kids play a tame round of Mario Kart.

Beca shoots her a look over her shoulder. “Don’t even right now,” she groans. Her annoyed expression softens when she sees Kelly giggling in Emily’s lap. “How’re you holding up?”

“Pretty okay, for the most part. Video games are like, the new-age babysitter, I guess.”

As if they’d overheard her words and wanted to contradict them, the kids finish their last race and switch off the game, rubbing their bloodshot eyes and starting to wander around for their next attention-grabber.

Oliver, the boy who’d offered Emily his controller hours ago, lets out a long groan and slumps dramatically down into an armchair. “I’m _bored_ , is it midnight yet?” Then his eyes clap onto Beca. “Hey, Beca! Do you have a new mix for us? Play something!” he says excitedly, pointing towards the off-limits corner where Beca keeps her old music equipment hooked up to an unused laptop, the desk surrounded by various instruments none of the Mitchells really knew how to play.

Apparently this is something Beca’s known for, because as soon as he suggests it, a small crowd of about a dozen begging children forms around her. “Beca can play like, the _sickest_ beats,” Michael explains to Emily as he points to the laptop and outdated launchpad. “It’s like _magic_.”

“Sure is,” she agrees, low enough that no one hears her over the din.

“Look guys, I’m kinda busy right now,” Beca says as she clambers out of the crowd and rushes out of the room, clicking the pliers like pincers. “Later, okay?”

“But —!”

“Later!”

The kids sag with disappointment as Beca runs off to the kitchen, hustling faster than Emily had ever seen her move. Michael lets out a huff of disgruntled frustration before he turns to the next oldest person in the room.

“Can _you_ play something, Emily?”

“Oh, uh…” Emily looks over at the makeshift studio and hesitates, wondering if she could actually figure out how to work it to entertain the kids long enough until Beca’s available. Despite its age and clunkiness, the launchpad Beca usually plays with fascinating ease looks expensive and difficult and intimidating. “Well, I can do…a more acoustic version, if that’s cool with you guys,” she says, eyes shifting over to the assortment of instruments.

She picks up the acoustic guitar and strums out a few notes, mind desperately racing through the songs she can play off the top of her head. But she knows an acoustic cover song won’t hold a candle to whatever masterpiece Beca would be able to create with her laptop; even though she’s only known these kids for a few hours and will probably never interact with them again, Emily can’t help but to aim for their approval.

In addition to the guitar, there’s a glockenspiel, a miniature 25-key keyboard, a melodica, a set of bongos, and a cajon. All of those together would definitely make for a good sound, but it’s not like Emily has fifty arms to spare.

_What could she possibly do that would match up to a Beca Mitchell mash-up?_

“Um. Can…anyone play piano?” she asks tentatively, wondering if asking for help from this eager audience would backfire.

“I can!” A wiry teenager — Emily thinks her name is Amanda — and Caleb shout in unison.

Emily grabs the glock and the keyboard. “Okay, cool. Well, this one isn’t a piano, but like…it’s similar enough.”

“I also play bells in marching band,” Amanda says helpfully.

“Perfect. Okay. Okay, okay, cool, soooo you’re going to play these notes,” Emily instructs, hitting out four steady eighth notes, “for three measures. Then you’re gonna switch to these four notes for one…and switch back again. And keep repeating that over and over again.”

She leaves Amanda to practice that as she moves onto Caleb. “Okay uh…does this keyboard have a…? Yes! Okay. Violin setting. Now _you_ are going to play this…” she says, playing a eight-measure riff slowly at first and a little faster the second time, “…it’s a little harder, but —”

“I know this song,” he says, smiling from ear to ear. “I mean, I haven’t heard it in years and I never learned to play it, but. Okay, wait, show me again.”

Emily does and leaves him to practice as she drags out the cajon and bongos, feeling oddly like an elementary school music teacher distributing secondhand instruments to her students. “Who’s good with beats?” Three boys, Oliver, Eddy, and Michael all raise their hands. “Hmm, okay. You take the bongos and you two can both fit on the cajon.” Mentally playing through the song in her head, she taps out a simple beat on the bongos. “Come in at the chorus with this. If you think you can make it more interesting, go for it. But! Don’t speed up or go too crazy, okay?”

They immediately go crazy hitting their respective instruments, and Emily just lets them get it out of the system as she snatches up the melodica, on a roll and getting excited. “Okay, uhhhh…”

“Me!” Nick volunteers. There’s no way he even knows what this instrument is, much less how to play it.

“Are you sure?” Emily asks, playfully exaggerating her skepticism. “You gotta be able to let out a loooooong breath.”

“I can do it!”

“I’m counting on you, bud.” She gives him the melodica and points out the four notes he has to play. “I’ll tell you when to play each one, okay? Here, come on, let’s hear you play this thing.”

After a gaping inhale, Nick puts his mouth on the tube and lets out a blaring note that has everyone covering their ears.

“Wow, okay, that’s awesome,” Emily says, “maybe not that loud, though. Now you guys.” She turns to the rest of the group. “You guys are the backup singers. All you have to do is sing ‘ahhhh’ and match your voice with the note Nick plays, got it? It’s harder than you think,” she warns, “so if it helps, try plugging one ear like this. Yeah, go ahead and try it.”

A cheerful mess of instrumental chaos and yelling children fills the den as everyone practices their parts, and Emily sits back for a minute, unsure of how things have gotten to this point. She strums out a few soft notes on the guitar, making sure it’s quiet enough so she won’t drown out the other kids’ playing.

“Ready?” She looks to Amanda. “You’re gonna start us off and I’ll cue everyone else in, cool? Cool. Okay, go for it.”

There’s absolute silence as Amanda starts to play; Emily wait until she completes the riff before starting to sing.

 _When the days are cold and the cards all fold_ _  
_ _And the saints we see are all made of gold_

Emily counts down from four with her fingers as she sings, cuing in Caleb just before she continues the next few lines.  
  
_When your dreams all fail and the ones we hail_ _  
Are the worst of all and the blood’s run stale_

Tuning out the glock and focusing on the keyboard, Emily switches songs and fights to keep herself in time. Her foot is tapping way too loudly, something she’d been trained out of doing with the Bellas, but there’s no way she’s going to stop and risk messing up when it’s going so well.

 _I need another story_  
 _Something to get off my chest_  
_My life gets kinda boring  
Need something that I can confess_

Risking another switch back to the first song, Emily locks eyes with the percussion crew, holding back a smile as they perk up with excitement.

 _No matter what we breed_   
_We still are made of greed_   
_This is my kingdom come_ _  
This is my kingdom come_

Emily doesn’t even cue them in correctly but Michael comes in right on time with the bongos — which admittedly doesn’t sound as deep as she’d wanted it to but it doesn’t matter because it falls in perfectly with the song. With a dramatic flourish, she points to Nick a beat before she enters with the chorus. 

_When you feel my heat_  
 _Look into my eyes_  
 _It’s where my demons hide_  
 _It’s where my demons hide_  
 _This time, don't need another perfect lie_  
_Don't care if critics ever jump in  
I'm gonna give all my secrets away_

It’s jumbled and halting and off-key and everyone messes up at some point or another but they manage to reach the end of the first chorus and Emily smiles so big that she has to pause before going into the next verse.

As she does, a figure at the door catches her eye; it’s Beca, leaning against the frame with an amused smirk, pliers still clutched in her hand. She motions for Emily to keep going as her smile widens, and, of course, Emily falters with the lyrics at that because she’s a _total_ doofus. The kids who aren’t completely focused on playing their parts giggle as she mumbles through the song until she can pick up the words again.

When she glances over towards the door again, she catches a flash of Beca’s red dress as she disappears around the door.

* * *

It’s nearing 11pm when Beca finally trudges into the den and throws herself down on the couch next to Emily. “Wow. That was fff…reakin’ awful,” she amends, although there aren’t too many kids left in the den to overhear her cursing. “God, I’m _so_ sorry for ditching you to be our, like, unofficial babysitter for the night. I invited you over and just left you alone here.”

“Oh, it’s okay. They’re a fun bunch.”

Beca raises an eyebrow. “You look exhausted.”

“So do you.”

“Fine. Touché. Whatever.”

They exchange tired laughs.

“Seriously though, this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I invited you over,” Beca says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That whole ‘let’s hide up in my room’ thing didn’t pan out at all and I’m super sorry.”

“Can you…” Emily groans. “Stop being sorry, please? I had a lot of fun with the kids.” In a moment fueled by pure exhaustion, she grasps Beca’s hand and squeezes her fingers. “I’m glad I came.”

She takes it as a good sign that Beca doesn’t pull away. “Yeah. Glad you came too.” She looks over at the musical corner of the den as if making sure everything was put back in place. “That was a cool mashup you did. Had a lot of parts covered, too.”

Emily shrugs. “It’s something I found on YouTube, nothing special. _I_ didn’t come up with it,” she says, heavily implying her uselessness when it came to creating original mixes and arrangements.

“Still sounded good, considering you were conducting toddlers and tweens. You’re selling yourself short again, dude.”  Her head lolls lazily against the couch as she turns to scan the room for the remaining children. “They really like you. You’re a natural with kids.”

“Babysitting,” Emily shrugs. “Only job you can get in middle school.”

“Figures,” Beca snorts. “God I would’ve died in your shoes. It might shock you, but kids really aren’t my forte.”

Emily gasps in mock surprise. “No _way_ . You mean you say you deflect kids with marshmallow guns because you don’t _like_ them?” she says sarcastically while silently thanking every deity known to man that Beca isn’t good with kids; she’s not sure if she would’ve survived the sight of Beca playing happily with a toddler or comforting a crying baby.

“All right, whatever, nerd,” Beca laughs as she pushes herself up. “Come on, we deserve a drink. Maybe ten.”

They’re still holding hands as Beca leads the way to the kitchen, and she knows that it’s just a casual gesture, that it means absolutely nothing, but Emily milks the rare physical contact for all it’s worth. She holds on tighter as they weave through the crowd, stomach flipping when she makes full-body contact with Beca as she stops short at the kitchen counter.

“Ow, Jesus. Slow down, Legacy.” Beca peruses the leftover drinks as Emily apologizes profusely, grabbing an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses. “Relax, I’m kidding. Here, we’re taking this.”

“This whole thing?”

“Trust me, no one’ll miss it.”

The TV is on in the living room, the news coverage of Times Square impossible to hear over the party chatter. The room is louder than Emily remembers, everyone slightly more loose and comfortable now that a fair amount of alcohol had been consumed. They find an unoccupied armchair — too big for one person but too small for two — and squeeze into it without much ceremony.

Emily tries not to overthink how they’re pressed against each other.

“Finally,” Beca sighs as she pries her arm out from between them to open the bottle and pour them each a glass. “Several hours overdue and it’s cheap as hell, but,” they clink their glasses together, “cheers.”

A vivid memory of them toasting with gallon jugs of water comes to mind and Emily stifles a laugh. “Yeah. Cheers.”

Beca drains her glass in one gulp and starts pouring another. “So, catch me up. How are you? How are the Bellas?”

“Oh, uh…”

Emily grimaces, thinking back to the practice where Hallie stormed out, to their issues with staying on key, to their inconsistent run-throughs, to their overall lack of togetherness. Then her thoughts lead to regionals, which they have less than two weeks to prepare for after break, and semifinals, which is a whole other set they have to practice and perfect, and to finals, which Emily doesn’t even see as a realistic goal anymore.

As much as she wants to reassure Beca that everything’s fine and under control, that she’s not the same girl that had the embarrassing meltdown in the Bella house over the summer, the lie doesn’t formulate with enough solidity for Emily to confidently say it out loud.

She can feel Beca looking at her. “Should I, uh, not have asked?”

Sighing with resignation, Emily closes her eyes and gives up on empty reassurances. “I just…don’t know how you guys did it. Like. Not just come together as a singing group, but it was more like…you guys really _got_ each other, if that makes sense. You guys still argued and disagreed with each other and there was that whole thing last year with you and Chloe and the internship, but even through all that you just…you still stuck it through. Together. As a group, not just as a leader dragging everyone along.”

Beca listens carefully, nodding along to Emily’s words with a deep sort of focus that makes Emily feel flustered despite the seriousness of the conversation. Aside from the obvious reasons, ranting her problems to Beca is different from ranting to her mom; there’s a steady intensity about her, maybe from the sharpness of her eyes, that assures Emily that she’s taking in all the facts so she can provide the most helpful, calculated answer.

Though the effect is ruined when Beca just shrugs lightly and says, “Eh, I dunno, man.”

“Is it because everyone’s new?” Emily presses. “Is it just like, a time thing?”

“Everything’s a time thing,” Beca shrugs again. “There’s no magical moment where everyone suddenly drops their differences to become this happy, feel-good family that you’re probably imagining. I mean, sure.” She pauses to drain her glass again, ignoring the look Emily gives her. “We had those dumb, gooey moments like that night at Aubrey’s retreat from hell where we sang around the campfire like a bunch of dorks. And yeah, we all got each other’s backs when worse comes to worst. But at the end of the day, we’re all very, _very_ different people. It takes time for a ragtag bunch of weirdos to bond like that. Time and, like, a common purpose or whatever,” she adds.

Which is more or less the same thing Emily’s mom had told her last week. And it’s not like she expected Beca to give her a whole new perspective or some kind of secret exercise to get all of her Bellas to like her, but hearing from multiple experts that this is something she has to work on for an extended period of time is admittedly disheartening for her overwhelmed mind.

“I know it’s a huge jump from what you had with the old Bellas,” Beca continues, “you came in as a newbie when we were at our peak. Well, ‘peak’ in terms of being a group, not in terms of our reputation. And now you’re a leader of a team you put together from scratch. It’s a huge switch that anyone would be disoriented from.”

Emily sips glumly at her wine. “I just feel like I’m messing it all up,” she mumbles around the lip of the glass. “I wish I…had a co-captain.”

“You could promote someone,” Beca suggests.

She hesitates, thinking of Tiff. “I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because that could cause more tension. I could be accused of picking favorites or not being good enough of a leader.”

Beca hums thoughtfully, her cheeks rosy from her rapid wine consumption. “I guess that’s true. But it might help with the whole teambuilding thing if you delegate more to others.” She suddenly snaps her fingers. “What _about_ a teambuilding thing?”

“Wh…what?” Emily asks, not following.

“Like. _Yeah_ , like that retreat from hell I was just talking about. Why not do something like that? Okay, maybe not as extreme, but.” Beca sits up abruptly, an energized light in her eyes. “We should like, organize a mini boot camp or something. Have Aubrey take charge again and whip you guys into shape.”

“I thought you hate it when Aubrey’s in a position of power.”

“Oh, absolutely, she’s a monster control freak,” Beca says, abandoning her glass and drinking straight from the bottle. “But sometimes it’s a necessary evil.”

She passes the bottle to Emily even though her glass is still full. “Well I guess it’s something we can consider,” Emily says thoughtfully, mulling it over.

“Your call, cap.”

“God, please. Not you too,” she groans. “Do you know how many times I’ve told them to stop calling me that?”

“Why?” Beca chuckles, scrunching her nose. “It’s cute.”

Emily rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, well _you’re_ —” She stops breathing to cut herself off. An all-encompassing, all-consuming, mortifying, deer-in-headlights sense of panic hits her so hard she reels back from the phantom impact. “—… not,” she finishes unconvincingly.

 _Nice save,_ the voice in her head congratulates sarcastically, and Emily kind of wants to sink into the chair and disappear from this world. If she was nervous about being squished against Beca in this chair before, now she’s so hyper-aware of every inch of contact they’re making and _prays_ she’s only imagining her body heating up against Beca’s cool skin.

“Anyway,” she says loudly, desperately averting her gaze because Beca’s looking at her with her eyebrows quirked like she knows exactly what Emily was about to say, “what’s been going on with you? How’s work? How’s New York? How’re Chloe and Amy?”

There’s a pause and Emily braces herself for the worst, but Beca takes the bait and launches into a rant about her annoying clients, annoying coworkers, annoying roommates, and annoying city. There’s probably the wine to thank for her easy distraction; Emily gladly hands Beca back the bottle when she reaches for it.

Still traumatized by the near-slip-up, Emily just wants to let Beca do the talking and keeps her own mouth firmly shut. But then they’re reminiscing about old Bellas’ shenanigans and they’re laughing and swapping dumb rehearsal stories and Emily’s drinking way more wine than she should while pressed against the girl she’s falling harder and harder for with each passing second.

They’re almost finished with the bottle when someone raises the TV volume and the chatter dies down a little. “Oh, shit, it’s almost midnight.” Beca suddenly jumps up from the chair. “Come on, let’s get some champagne and watch this bad boy _drop_.”

Despite her nerves skyrocketing at the mention of midnight, Emily breathes out a laugh as she follows Beca to the kitchen, considering rescinding her earlier amendment to admit that yes, Beca is cute, cuter than anyone Emily’s ever met and will ever meet, so cute that it physically hurts.

And out of nowhere it dawns on her just how much she wants Beca, how much she wants to hold her and kiss her and tell her these dumb sappy things like how cute she is, how much Emily wants Beca to be hers, how maybe this isn’t just some idle crush born out of admiration, how she might actually be in love with Beca Mitchell.

Beca hands her a champagne flute with a smile — a tired and slightly tipsy smile but a genuine smile nonetheless — and Emily feels an overwhelming urge to start crying.

“Can you see?” Beca asks as they join the crowd around the TV.

“Yeah, duh. Can _you?_ ”

Beca shoves lightly at her arm and Emily’s stomach swoops and suddenly it’s only a minute until midnight and people are already counting down and the moment’s moving way too fast. She blinks and there’s thirty seconds left. Another blink, fifteen seconds left.

“Twelve, eleven, ten, nine —”

Practically hyperventilating, Emily watches as the giant numbers on the screen ticks down to the single digits.

“Three! Two! One!”

A small explosion ripples through the air as a dozen poppers go off simultaneously, filling the packed living room with a solid cloud of shimmery confetti and streamers. Several follow-up pops cut through the air as no less than three champagne corks bounce off the ceiling and walls. The chaos on screen reflects the celebration happening in the living room, same scenes of hugging, kissing, dancing, and drinking that’s probably happening all up and down the East Coast.

Fighting to keep her clammy fingers from shaking, Emily sneaks a glance at Beca, who’s observing the celebration with a detached kind of thoughtfulness, a small smile on her lips.

She could do it. She could just reach out, turn Beca around, and just pull them together. She could kiss her and blame it on the New Year’s spirit and the wine and the champagne. Everything Emily’s ever wanted is standing three inches and one bold move away.

She could do it.

 _God_ , she wants to do it.

But she doesn’t.

Swallowing her hammering heart back down, she brushes her elbow against Beca’s arm and asks, “What’re you thinking about?”

Beca jerks out of her daze. “Oh. Just thought it was funny how these uptight snobs can really let loose when the occasion calls for it,” she snickers. Emily freezes over when Beca turns to her with a mischievous smile. “Could give the Bellas a run for their money, huh?”

_Do it, do it, do it, DO IT. DO. IT. Just like, a peck on the lips. Do it, you wimp._

“You okay?” Beca asks.

Emily blinks and forces a smile. “Y-yeah. I was just…thinking the same thing.”  

They clink glasses again and Emily sips at the champagne, undeniably disappointed that her fantasy didn’t come true but also relieved that she’d made it this far without having made a complete fool of herself.

Maybe it’s for the best that they stay this way. Friends. Just friends.

“Happy New Year, Beca” she says quietly, unable to look her in the face.

Beca's voice is equally soft. “Yeah. Happy New Year, Em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Barricade - MY RED + BLUE  
> chapter song: I Could Be The One - MY RED + BLUE
> 
> mashup based off of https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbAktvyXLR8
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be more.........relevant to the story LOL bye
> 
> also come scream about this fic with me so maybe I'll be more motivated to finish it: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


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